


When

by dodecahedrons



Series: Perpetuality [1]
Category: South Park
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - High School, Amputation, Anger, Anxiety, Character Development, Constant death, Extended Metaphors, Fatal Overdosing, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hell, Homophobia, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Animal Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, One Night Stands, PTSD, Reincarnation, Reverse Amnesia, Shooting, Skipping Class, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Sunsets, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, also stan/kenny is another past relationship, bebe/token is only referenced, graveyards, kenny/butters is a past relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-11-05 18:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 48,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11018820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dodecahedrons/pseuds/dodecahedrons
Summary: Kenny had died again. This wasn't abnormal to him, and no one ever seemed to remember that he died. He was used to waking up in his bed and seeing his friends the next day as if nothing had happened to end his life the day prior. Things continued as if he had just went to bed like everyone else. He was okay with this.But after 8 years of deaths that held no weight or consequence, Kenny wakes up in a world where people seem to have forgotten him entirely.





	1. Chapter 1

Most people would awake with a burst of anxiety or adrenaline after having died, but Kenny was used to it. He'd forgotten just how many times he'd experienced death, but at this point it had become nothing more than an inconvenience to him. Most people his age would feel like exams or errands were just a small speedbump in their life, but for him his speedbumps came more in the way of decapitation and pitiful attempts at an actually successful suicide.

He kicked his legs over the edge of his bed, looking down at his bare legs. He never seemed to wake up in warm clothes, only a pair of boxers and a tanktop. Seeing his bare skin was the worst part of his near daily reincarnations - the faded scars littering his body made his stomach turn. Quickly, he stood and shuffled to his closet, shivering a bit as his body suddenly realized it was no longer being insulated by his ratty comforter.

His closet was full of orange parkas. It was his staple at this point. Ever since he'd started dying over and over, he'd worn orange parkas. Originally, it was to make him feel safe. Being nine years old and dying over and over again calls for something to give you a false sense of security. But as he got older, he compulsively wore the coat. Not only was it such a habit for him to do so, but it helped hide parts of him he'd rather not have to explain to anyone.

Not that they'd believe him if he even began to try to explain why he looked like he'd just been thrown through a woodchipper.

He pulled out one of his parkas and pulled it over his tanktop, zipping it up to the point the oversized collar covered half of his face. He pulled on his orange cargo pants and slid on his pre-tied sneakers as he jogged out of his room, trying to move as quietly as possible to not wake up his family.

Who knew if they were even home? He just wanted to be on the safe side.

He threw his hood up as he opened his front door, slowly easing it shut before booking it down the icy pavement.

He didn't know what time it was, but he had gotten used to the fact that he didn't usually wake up with enough time to be leisurely before school. His friends would probably worry if he didn't show up - the only time he remembered them actually being concerned was the one time he actually had a degenerative disease. That was the only death anyone actually reacted to, and no one fucking remembered it.

As he ran, he began to see the hats his friends usually wore peaking over the horizon. He began to gradually slow his pace, as if to seem like he didn't just run a marathon to make it to the bus stop before it picked up. He habitually raised his hands, pulling at the strings of the hood to make it cinch shut a bit more. As he approached the bus stop (and his friends), he pulled his brown mittens out of his pocket and slid them on.

"Hey, what's up guys?" he greeted, glancing at them with a smile obvious in his eyes. He waited for a moment for them to look at him, but when no one paid him any mind, he tried once again. "Guys! Hey!"

"Uh, Kyle, do you know this guy?" his friend Eric commented, confusion on his face.

"What guy?" Kyle responded. "What are you on, Eric?"

"Him," Eric answered, pointing at Kenny. Kenny blinked in confusion. Was Eric trying to pull a joke...? He'd pulled some shitty jokes before, and most of them barely hit, but this one was so far off the mark that he'd probably be executed for some sort of disability in medieval times.

Kyle turned and faced Kenny. Kenny waved awkwardly, still trying to smile through the confusion and slight anxiety he was going through. No sign of recognition passed over Kyle, and he soon took on the same confused look Eric still currently had. Eric turned to the person standing to his other side and nudged him. "Hey, Stan, do you recognize this kid? Kyle doesn't know him, and neither do I."

Stan leaned forward and looked at Kenny briefly before shaking his head. "I don't know him. Maybe he's a transfer?"

"Guys, it's me! Kenny?" he said a bit hurriedly, motioning at himself a little bit. "You know... Kenny McCormick?" It seemed a bit silly to him, to have to say his last name, but if they were pulling this elaborate of a scheme he felt like he needed to budge a little.

"Look, I'm sorry, I don't know you and can't understand you through that fucking parka," Eric mumbled. Before Kenny could say anything else, Kyle turned his back to him and went back to talking to Eric, and Stan returned to whatever the fuck he was doing beforehand.

And Kenny stood there. That's all he did.

Becuase his friends were being huge dicks right now, and he didn't have the energy to deal with it.

 

* * *

 

Lunch period was Kenny awkwardly trying to find a table to sit at. Since none of his friends - or even any of his acquaintences - seemed to want to acknowledge they knew him, he was forced to either sit against the wall of the cafeteria by himself or to eat in a classroom. He opted to just stow himself away in a corner, next to a plant that clearly hadn't been watered in weeks.

As he dropped his tray on the ground unceremoniously and sat down next to the poor ficus, he gave a heavy sigh. He unzipped his parka just a bit to be able to drink the soda he'd payed far too much for, and as he took the first refreshing sip of the Pepsi, he watched as the cafeteria seemed to operate without knowledge of anything pertaining to him.

He couldn't remember it being near April Fools or anything - last he checked, Christmas had just passed. Either he had been in another weird limbo of death where he didn't reincarnate as fast as he or anyone else would like and he'd woken up exactly on April Fools, or everyone simultaneously decided to be an asshole to him.

He took an angry glug of his Pepsi before haphazardly attempting to cap his drink with mittened hands.

It didn't go over very well in the end, because he ended up covered in the overpriced sugar water. It took everything in him not to either scream or just start crying. Instead, he quietly picked up the now half-full bottle of Pepsi and poured the remaineder into the starving plant. Without even acknowledging the tray of dried out mac n cheese he left behind, he made his way through the cafeteria that still bustled with the energy of 150 highschoolers and pushed through the doors leading to the halls.

The halls were barren. This wasn't abnormal, as most kids were either in clubs, eating lunch, or off campus having sex or doing drugs. As he made his way through the labyrinth of lockers and classrooms, he maybe passed one or two other people. Other than that, he was alone with the hum of florescent lights, the slight squish of his soda covered shoes against the tiled floors, and his racing thoughts.

He pulled at his hoodie strings again, trying to block out as much of the world as he could in a feeble attempt to stop his thoughts.

Pushing open the door to the boy's restroom, he breathed out a sigh as he found it just as vacant as the halls. He didn't bother to try to lock himself in a stall, seeing as there was probably residue of all sorts of things he'd rather not come in contact with in them. The last thing he needed at that moment was some sort of infection or STD to kill him again.

He looked in the cracked mirror, examining how much of the soda was visible on him. His parka was water resistant, so there were only stray droplets of syrup on it that were waiting for the right moment to roll off, but his pants weren't so lucky.

It didn't look like he'd peed himself, but the left thigh of his cargos were now a shade darker and sticky with Pepsi.

Shouting an expletive, he slammed his fist on the counter that held two dripping sinks. This shouldn't be getting to him as bad as it was, but he couldn't help it. He had just come back to life after shooting himself for the umpteenth time and his friends were being complete jerks to him. Now his lunch was wasted and he was covered in soda.

The day was just going fan-fucking-tastic, wasn't it?

He pounded his fist on the counter one more time before looking up in the mirror once again, this time at his face. The fuzz of the hood made it hard to discern, but his face was just as scarred as his legs. He pulled his hood off slowly, staring at his reflection, trying to count the scars and remember how he got them.

Turning his head to examine more, he noticed a fresh scar on his left temple. That was definitely from the night prior, he concluded. It was too fresh looking and in the same location he'd shot himself. Nothing else was that vivid to him.

He was about to unzip the collar of his parka to observe the one scar on his neck he could remember the cause of, but he heard the bell ring. Quickly and anxiously, he pulled the hood back over his head and pulled tightly at the strings. He took a moment to compose himself, taking a deep breath and exhaling before heading for the bathroom door.

Just as he was about to pull it open, it swung and hit him right in the nose. All he could tell was that he was definitely bleeding, and it was definitely going to start staining his parka if he didn't get it to stop quickly. Without even looking up to see who it was that opened the door, he leaned over and cupped his nose with one of his hands, frantically reaching for the paper towel dispenser to grab several towels. With a panicked sense of urgency, he began to one-handedly ball up pieces of paper towel into nose plugs, putting them in his nostrils as fast as possible.

It was really fucking hard with mittens on.

He turned around and saw someone awkwardly standing, still partially in the door with their hands firmly placed on it. He didn't get a good look at who it was, which could be attributed to the anxiety he was currently feeling, the fuzz of his parka, and the haste at which they let go of the door when they'd realized they'd been seen; he did, however, catch a glimpse of their jacket.

It was a deep blue.

The bell rang again, and he anxiously ambled for the door, stuffing his extra paper towels in his pocket in case his nose bled for longer than the current paper towels could hold up for.

He didn't know why he was so hung up on the person who slammed the bathroom door into his face, but as he headed for his chemistry class, he decided he needed to figure out who it was. Not for revenge, not to ask why, but as something to occupy his brain.

He didn't even need to confront them. He just wanted to distract himself from the fact all of his friends had collectively decided to drop him.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently he was a transfer student.

It took until he went to chemistry for people to start questioning who he was. The fact that he wore his hoodie and collar over his face only furthered people's confusion. The day prior, it was more or less his status symbol. No one questioned why he dressed the way he did, and everyone went on with their lives. But now, all of the sudden, even the teachers were in on Eric's stupid prank.

Seeing as no one recognized him anyway, he quietly slipped out of the classroom just as the bell rang and began to wander the halls that he recognized, but that didn't recognize him back.

Briefly, he began to have an existential crisis about whether he was dreaming or not - isn't it true that in dreams, reality is warped either in or against your favor? He looked at his mittened hands and stopped in the middle of the hallway without meaning to.

Getting shoved into by one of the emo kids who are responsible for sixty percent of the cigarette butts on campus was enough to convince him he wasn't still asleep. With a quick apology to the already gone passerby, he made his way to the restrooms once more.

Sure, he figured he might catch something if he even breathed too close to the stalls, but ditching through the faulty window couldn't be that hard, right? It wouldn't kill him - he'd done it too many times before. He knew what caused death and even his most spontaneous deaths could have been predicted from a mile away had he been fully aware of his circumstances.

He shoved the door to the bathroom open and began to head for the window adjacent to one of the stalls. All he had to do was wedge himself between the wall and the stall door and put enough pressure on the window to pop the lock on it. Then he could ditch and everyone would either be forced to admit they were ignoring him or-

The toilet flushed as he approached the stall he needed. Kenny froze and debated ducking back to the sinks to pretend he was checking on the bloody nose he'd had earlier, but decided that that would be fucking stupid. He may or may not be recognized by any of the students or faculty at this hellhole of a school, but regardless, he refused to let himself be seen as some sensitive prick who needs to check his nose a full class period after it had started to bleed.

Instead, he froze in place, watching as the stall door creaked open.

And out stepped the kid who'd slammed the door into his face earlier. At least, that's who it appeared to be. He hadn't gotten clear enough sight of him when it happened, but the coat he was wearing seemed familiar even beyond the color.

They stood, staring at eachother awkwardly for a moment, as if they were in elementary school and had a weird heterosexual relationship going on but didn't know what to do when they were alone with eachother. Kenny opened his mouth to speak, but on account of the other kid not being able to see that he was preparing to speak, he ended up getting cut off before anything could be said.

"Sorry about earlier," the kid apologized in a rather nasally monotone voice. "It looked like it hurt like a bitch."

"It didn't, really. I've felt worse," Kenny responded, putting his hands in his parka pockets. He didn't exactly know what to do with his body - he had never felt so self conscious in his own skin before. Not in public, anyway. It was just... a first for him. To both be caught when he's about to ditch, and the fact he got caught by the person who slammed the door in his face. He just hadn't expected it.

"Uh... yeah, still. Sorry," the kid mumbled, adjusting his shirt over his pants a bit as he rocked awkwardly on his heels. "I'm Craig, by the way."

"Kenny," Kenny mumbled.

They stood in awkward silence for another moment, before Craig stepped forward and made his way passed Kenny to the sinks. He'd quickly said "See you around" as he passed, but Kenny had pretty much forgotten it as soon as he'd heard it. All he could focus on was how badly he wanted out.

He knew Craig. Why didn't Craig know him? Craig didn't like Eric, he wouldn't go along with Eric's plans.

As soon as Kenny heard the door to the bathroom open and close, he ran to the previously occupied stall, made sure the door was locked, and used it as leverage to escape.

 

* * *

 

There was a treehouse in the woods behind the school. He knew this because him and his friends had explored the woods one day when they were still in middle school. The middle school they'd attended wasn't that far from his current highschool, so going through the woods that more or less connected them was a must.

When they'd found the treehouse, it had traces of all sorts of drugs and certain bodily fluids. They were young, but they weren't so young that they didn't know what the treehouse was used for. In fact, it was Kyle who pointed out that there was a little baggy of cocaine peaking out from a nearby shrub. Of course, Eric made jokes about Kyle sneaking out here to do drugs, and inferred he was just acting surprised about the drugs because he wanted to seem innocent. Kenny reminisced about how Kyle's face matched his hair from how angry he got as he ascended the rotting ladder of the familiar structure.

The entire town seemed different to him, now that he was aware that people weren't remembering him. He was more or less releived to find that one part of his life was still in existence. As he reached the shoddily made interior of the treehouse, he breathed out a relaxed sigh and pulled himself up. With a quick glance over the railing of the house, he confirmed no one was around.

He was alone.

Despite the fact it was below freezing, he took his parka off and tossed it to a corner of the small house. Immediately, the cold breeze he didn't realize was passing through nipped at his skin, but he didn't particularly mind. It was a welcome feeling, and he had the power to control it.

It was one of the only feelings he could control.

He rubbed at his arms to create friction, leaning against the trunk of the tree that ascended through the treehouse and above the roof. As his fingers ran up and down his arms, he tried his damndest to ignore the feelings of the deeper scars. Every sensation was a memory of prior days, prior injuries, prior deaths... he just wanted them all to go away.

He wished he could be so blissfully ignorant of every death he'd endured. He sometimes wanted to scream at his friends for not remembering. Bitterly, he remembered the one time in elementary school when he and his friends had that stupid little super hero club, how he outright killed himself multiple times to make a point and no one remembered. No one knew. No one cared.

That's what got him the most about his deaths. The fact that it appeared no one cared. The select few times he'd brought it up to anyone, he'd been met with laughs or worried looks. One time, someone called an emergency line on him because they thought he was having some sort of episode. They thought he was crazy. They took him away in cuffs because he couldn't stop screaming and crying. It was one of the worst breakdowns he'd ever had...

And no one remembers it.

He rolled his head back, sighing once more as his matted hair met the rough bark of the tree. What a privilege it must be to not only continue living, but to not remember how many times someone you know has died. It was selfish, but he almost wished his friends remembered his deaths. He wished they had to go through some of the same pain as him.

If they knew, maybe they wouldn't be pulling such an asanine prank on him.

...If it even was a prank. He couldn't tell anymore. Sure, it seemed absurd to think that Eric could get the entire school involved in a scheme to make Kenny think he was going crazy, but it wouldn't be the first time something so incredibly unfathomable had happened. There were so many unexplainable things his friends had done before... why put this passed them?

Hell, even Craig could be involved. Maybe Tweek convinced him. Maybe Eric bribed him. Maybe he's doing it so he doesn't get called out. Maybe he just hates Kenny for the few times he'd fucked him over in the passed.

He continued on with that train of thought, trying to rationalize why everyone was ignoring him.

Maybe Tweek's medication was off, maybe Kyle was having a bad day, maybe the teachers caught on that he was a shit student, maybe...

Maybe what? Why was he trying to excuse this? He growled and ripped his mittens off, throwing them over the edge of the treehouse into the forming piles of snow. He'd been so zoned out in his thoughts, trying to rationalize behavior that shouldn't be excused, that he hadn't noticed the pretty heavy snowfall that had started. He looked around, trying to gague how much time he'd missed in his own thoughts, but it was no use. The snow was already more or less an inch deep, and his parka was covered in snow. He shivered more, to the point of teeth chattering, as he grabbed the bit of orange he could see through the otherwise white surroundings and pulled the heavy coat on over his underdressed frame.

He was done with the stupidity of his friends, but that didn't mean he'd be willing to freeze to death.

He wasn't going to die again. He couldn't. Not before he figured out what was going on.


	3. Chapter 3

He quietly trekked through the forest as it became full of snow, taking in the serenity of the environment around him. If it wouldn't eventually cause him to reach hypothermic body temperatures, he'd love to lie down and just watch the snow fall. He wanted the entire world to just stop, death to take a vacation, and the snow to fall on him so he could relax completely for once. But that wouldn't happen. Never in a million years. Not to him, at least.

The snow was falling fast enough that his footprints disappeared moments after they were made. He was shin deep in snow as he pushed himself back through the familiar trails of the woods back to his school. Despite almost being completely whited out from the sudden blizzard, he knew where he was going. He had come and gone through this trail so many times that he could navigate it even if he had gone blind.

As he came toward what he knew as the edge of the woods, he faintly heard the school bell. Sharp winds hitting him in the face carried the sound a little better, and despite the whistling in his ears, he could hear other people outside. School had probably just let out - he had been in the woods for a while, hadn't he?

He crossed through the snow covered brush that littered the tree line and held his hood over his face, fighting the wind as he continued to walk forward. A few kids glanced over at him; who wouldn't glance over at him? He was a traffic cone on a background of pure white. No one headed toward him, though, which was to be expected. He wasn't exactly known by anyone anymore. That's all he could gather. The world had just collectively forgotten him.

He watched as his friend group walked into sight. He continued to walk, despite the fact that Eric had clearly stopped the group so they could watch him. Knowing him, he was probably making snarky remarks about him. He wasn't part of the friend group anymore, and Eric always made comments about people who he wasn't friends with.

As he passed the trio, he could hear Eric's obnoxious laughter.

The snow was still falling, and he knew busses weren't in operation. His house was a few miles away, and that'd be hell to traverse in this snow. He debated climbing back into the school and just hiding out in a janitor's closet until it was safe to leave, but he knew that wasn't gonna be the most effective thing. School would probably be out for at least a day until they managed to clear the roads. He was already too cold to even imagine walking three miles, though.

Anxious feelings swelled up in his chest as his mind began to run through all of the blizzard-caused deaths he could face. He hadn't noticed, but he'd stopped dead in his tracks a while ago. He didn't notice the people who were standing in the school doorway, calling for all of the kids to come back into the building. He didn't notice that the snow was waist deep now.

He just kept thinking about how likely it was that this would be another of his unprecedented deaths.

 

* * *

 

It was Butters who was sent to ask him to come into the building. Honestly, Butters was the only one who was talking to Kenny. Everyone else had sectioned off into their own little friend groups, but Butters decided to sit with Kenny while he practically thawed himself out.

"Aren't you going to change? I'm sure your gym clothes would be better than a damp parka and cargo pants," Butters asked, worry evident in his voice. Kenny smiled a bit behind the collar of his parka. He was too innocent, too unaware of what lie under the orange outfit he was wearing.

He simply shook his head, fixating his eyes on the wall across from him. He was currently sitting against some lockers closer to the entrance of the school, but out of sigh from any large doors or windows. He didn't want to be too close to the entry, because then he'd be able to see the snow falling and it'd only make his mind race even more.

"You have to be freezing, though! Your clothes are covered in snow!" Butters exclaimed, his southern accent coming out in his clear anxiety for the kid he didn't even know. "I might have an extra outfit in my locker."

"Don't worry about me," Kenny mumbled. "I'll be fine."

"I-I'm sorry, I can't understand you," Butters responded quickly. Kenny sighed, hesitantly unzipping the collar of his parka just a bit.

"I said not to worry about me," he repeated, looking over into Butter's eyes. Butters quietly blinked, his mouth hanging open a little bit. "What, what are you looking at?"

"Are... you alright?" he asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"I've just never seen a scar like that on someone," the shorter blond practically whispered. It took Kenny a moment to realize that his hoodie wasn't cinched anymore, and that more of his face was visible. Despite the fact that his face wasnt riddled with as many scars as other parts of his body were, there were still a few ugly scars adorning his otherwise bland features.

"Oh, I'm fine," Kenny laughed, trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal. Quickly, he tried to think of an excuse he'd used in the past to people he didn't know. A little white lie wouldn't hurt, not when the truth was too heavy to drop on someone already so anxious.

Butters didn't even know him anymore.

"My family and I went skiing, and I fell and hit a rock. It hurt like a bitch, but hey, I'm alive, right?" he smiled, his eyes closing as he rezipped his collar and pulled his hoodie strings.

"Oh, well! I'm glad you're okay!" Butters exclaimed, a smile evident in his voice now. Kenny nodded slightly, almost to the point one wouldn't be able to tell he'd moved at all.

He returned his stare to the wall. He'd managed to lie to someone who at one point knew too much about him. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hugged his legs, taking a deep breath. Butters didn't know him anymore. There was no sign of recognition on the boy's face when he'd spoken to him. He hadn't addressed him by name. He had the same stare that Kyle and Eric had had when he saw them at the bus stop.

This wasn't a prank, was it?

"Excuse me," Kenny mumbled after a few moments of unbearable silence. As he stood and brushed off any remaining snow on his clothes, he could hear Butters protesting. Kenny didn't want to hear any of it.

His own ex boyfriend didn't recognize him anymore.

No one recognized him.

This wasn't a prank.

His most recent death had actually killed him. Not in the sense where you're in whatever afterlife (or lack thereof) you believe in, no. This fate, in his opinion, felt worse than any death he'd experienced over the years.

He had died in the memory of everyone he cared about.

His heavy breaths against the plastic-like material of his parka's collar drowned out any attempt Butters made at calling out to him as he speedwalked to any location in the school he could isolate himself in.

He couldn't bear to face anyone. Not until he processed this.


	4. Chapter 4

Kenny's criminal record wasn't the cleanest. Across his multiple reincarnations, he'd accumulated tons of violence related charges. He wasn't a stranger to fighting, after all. He had no reason to fear pain when it came to fighting. Broken bones and split lips are pretty much knee scrapes to someone who's died enough times to perfectly recall the logistics of each and every way one's life could end.

Bitterly, he wondered if he should write a book. Publish it as a fiction. Sell his life story as a joke.

He gave a half-hearted huff as he stared down at the dim auditorium from the rafters.

He only knew how to safely get up on the rafters because of some school-issued community service he'd done. It was his job to clean the entire stage and auditorium after their school production the year prior. This included cleaning cobwebs and shit out of the rafters to avoid infestations. That sure was fun. He only died once during the whole ordeal.

His fistfight with Cartman hadn't been worth it, honestly.

The blizzard winds blew violently against the school, causing the old wood of the rafters to groan. This didn't bother him. He actually enjoyed the feeling of the wood shifting underneath him. It made him feel alive.

Something he hadn't felt at all that day.

He couldn't stop thinking about how Butters didn't remember him. It only added onto the fucked up reality that no one he cared about remebered him. This couldn't be a prank anymore, and Butters not knowng him proved it. Eric could coerce him to do a lot of things, but forgetting Kenny wasn't one of them.

He muttered a string of swears under his breath, pounding his fist into the wood he sat atop. This only caused the wood to groan more, but he didn't care. So what if he fell? Maybe he'd die and wake up where people actually gave a flying fuck about him.

As he stared down at the barely illuminated stage below him, heard a metallic creek across the large room. When he looked up, he saw two figured walking in through the door to his right. If he squinted, he could make out the rather... eccentric hair of Craig's boyfriend. Was his name Tweek? He felt like it was Tweek, but he also couldn't get over how high his parents must have been to name him that.

"What are we doing in here?! The teachers haven't given us permission to be in here!" Tweek stammered. His movements were jagged and exaggerated, and Kenny could hear his voice just as clear as if he were actively part of the conversation. He decided to focus on whatever was going on with Tweek and who he assumed to be Craig instead of his own thoughts. It was probably better that way.

"Shush, listen," a voice he didn't immediately register said. It definitely wasn't Craig, though it did sound oddly familiar. He wasn't sure who it was exactly, though. "You know that new kid?"

"Who? I didn't know we had a transfer!" Tweek practically shouted, his voice fluctuating pitches. Whoever was speaking to him shushed him repeatedly and actually put his hand over his mouth. Kenny snapped out of his daze completly after a moment and realized.

It was Eric.

Tweek was crying now, and Eric pushed him further into the auditorium, kicking the door shut completely behind him as he practically dragged Tweek into the aisles of seats. "Tweek, do you want us to get detention? I'm trying to have a talk with you as your friend."

"You aren't my friend! We never talk! You're an asshole to Craig!" Tweek immediately responded. Now that the two were closer, Kenny could see Tweek's nervous twitching. It was getting worse as the interaction went on, it seemed.

"Tweek, that's not important. Can you stop crying and fuckin' listen? That new kid - the one with the orange parka - he's not giving me good vibes," Eric said, voice quickening and softening as he spoke. He seemed as if he was hyperaware that someone could be eavesdropping on him. Maybe Kenny's massive death count gave him some sort of unshakable aura that gave people who didn't know him weird fears.

Regardless, seeing Eric seemingly afraid of him made him feel good for a moment. Quietly, he adjusted himself on the rafters, holding his breath as if that would help the old beams not creak under his weight.

They did, however, because fate loved to fuck with him.

Tweek took a very, _very_ audible breath as his cries worstened. Eric's head shot up and looked around. "Who's there? Show yourself, you pussy!"

"Eric, stop! You're going to get us in trouble!"

"I'm going to say this and make this quick. That kid is going to be trouble. There's something about him that seems fucked, and I'd recommend you avoid him. You wouldn't want to get hurt, would you?"

"No! No! But I don't... I don't know who you're talking about!"

Kenny felt anger boiling inside of him. _H_ e was trouble? Sure, he wasn't the most behaved kid, but hearing that he was trouble coming from someone who had done the most fucked up things and got off with less punishment was almost like a slap in the face. It took everything inside of him not to jump off the rafter and throttle the asshole right then and there.

"Listen. He doesn't show his face. Butters said he was super scarred all over his face. He could be a convict or something. Just lay low," Eric whispered, putting his hand on Tweek's trembling shoulder. Tweek whined and grunted nervously, nodding shakily. Eric patted the blond's shoulder a few times before standing and walking out of the auditorium. Kenny watched as Eric threw the door open, letting light flood in for the few moments it took him to leave and pull the door shut behind him.

Once Eric was gone, Tweek and Kenny were the only ones left in the auditorium. Kenny sat for a few moments, listening to the pitiful sounds of Tweek's sobs. It was unbearable to listen to and not do anything.

He pulled himself up onto the rafter, balancing as he walked his way back to the balconies lining the top of the stage. He needed to get out. He couldn't confront Tweek, and he couldn't listen to him cry. He needed to do the only thing he could: find out what the hell Eric's problem was.


	5. Chapter 5

 

Still thawing boots thudded against the linoleum floors of the school hallways. The noise echoed throughout the emptiness as Kenny ran for the cafeteria. Of all places, Eric would most likely be there. The year before last, the first time they got snowed in at this school, they offered hot chocolate and leftovers from lunch to all the students who couldn't make it home. Eric, being the fatass he was, would probably be there.

That's what he was banking on, anyway.

As he approached the doors of the cafeteria, he slowed his pace and took a moment to calm his breathing. He didn't want anyone asking where he'd been or why he was working up a sweat when the school's heaters could barely fight the cold that the snowstorm was causing. Once he'd calmed his breathing and heartrate enough to seem like a normal human being, he pushed through the doors and looked around. Eric was nowhere in sight.

He sighed, hanging his head a bit. Quietly, he turned to leave. He hadn't been interested in what the cafeteria had to offer, he was just looking for Eric. He was sure no one would notice, anyway. No one here remembered him, and no one here noticed him. It was like he was a ghost. He pushed the doors open once more, and no one even called out for him as he walked back into the hallway. A defective light began to flicker as he slowly walked back through the route he'd ran through moments prior, and he put his hands in his parka pockets. Not having his mittens was bullshit. His hands were freezing, and he had this ugly scar on the back of his left hand...

He bumped into something.

Backing up and shaking his head to gather himself, he looked at the object at fault for blocking his path. It was the wall. The fucking wall. He walked into the wall because he couldn't stop thinking about how he lost his gloves in the woods.

"Haha! Transfer is a fucking moron!" Eric called from down the hall. Quickly, Kenny turned to meet the boy's eyes. Anger boiled inside of him once again, and when he noticed Eric wasn't trying to get away, he started making his way toward him.

Eric was speaking to Stan, probably about what had just happened. He had that sly ass look on his face. Kenny had half the mind to actually slap it off of his face, but he didn't feel like full-out brawling unless it was necessary. Sure, Eric sucked at fighting, but he was 250lbs of foul play, and he would totally use that against Kenny. After all, the blond was a twig. Eric could pick his teeth with him if he wanted to.

Kenny was now mere yards from Eric. He reached up and unzipped the collar of his parka just a bit, anticipating having to have an actual discussion where Eric could hear him. Stan blinked and pointed at Kenny cautiously as he approached, and Eric laughed. "Oh! Look! He noticed me! I bet he's going to beat me up!" With that, he raised his hands in mock terror and looked at the ceiling, a grin forming on his lips. "I'm so scared!" he teasingly whined.

"The fuck is your problem, Cartman?" Kenny shouted, a bit too loudly. Eric's act froze, and Stan stared at Kenny with his jaw hanging just a bit. He noticed the slight background commotion that had been happening in the two branching halls dial down, as if everyone knew something was about to happen and wanted to listen in for the juicy gossip.

"Excuse me?" Eric responded, still standing with his hands in the air. "My problem? What the fuck are you talking about? We haven't interacted all day."

"In the auditorium, you were talking to Tweek," Kenny prodded, stepping forward.

"Woah, woah. I don't know what you're accusing him of, but I can guarantee he's not trying to start anything," Stan stated, his nerves clearly starting to go a little haywire. He stepped inbetween Kenny and Eric, putting his hands out to either one of them.

"He said I'm trouble. The bastard doesn't even know me!" Kenny shouted. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Butters and Wendy leaning over from their spots against the wall, watching in on the confrontation. He didn't care, though. He didn't care if the entire school heard him. If he didn't confront this, Eric would certainly spread it. They'd all know either way.

"Eric, what is he talking about?" Stan inquired, turning to face Eric. The chubbier boy scoffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms against his chest.

"I don't think anyone thinks this kid _isn't_ trouble. Butters saw his face and said it was fucked up. I was just letting Tweek know, since he has that whole twitchy-spazzy thing."

"He has an anxiety disorder, Eric," Stan said. Kenny stifled a laugh. Sure, he was telling the most paranoid kid in the entire school about some sort of villanous transfer student to protect him. He totally didn't do it so he'd anxiously spread the fucking rumor.

"I don't fuckin' care what he has," Eric mumbled. He turned around, facing the general direction of Butters and Wendy. Kenny noticed the duo suddenly return to whatever they were doing prior, as to not get caught staring. "Butters! Get your ass over here for a second!"

"Uh-" Butters replied, voice soft. He scrambled to his feet and nearly faceplanted as he half-ran to where the argument was occuring. "What is it, Eric?"

"Did you or did you not tell me that this kid's face is fucked up?" he asked. Butters visibly tensed up.

"Uh, well..." Butters nervously began to respond, and he began to nervously wring his hands. "I... I _did_ say that he had a scar. But-! But he said it was from a skiing accident!"

"A skiing accident, huh? Well, transfer," Eric hummed menacingly, turning his gaze to Kenny once more. Kenny looked at Eric with an unreadable expression, despite the fact his heart was pounding in his chest. "Why don't you prove this to us? You see, I happen to know that half of the students here are frequent skiiers. I'm sure we'd be able to see if this scar was related to that, or to some other activity."

"I'd rather not," Kenny mumbled breath hot against his parka collar. He adjusted the collar to make sure what he was saying was clear enough, without showing his face too much. Instinctively, he reached his hands toward his hoodie strings.

"Oh, look at that! We've got a little pussy here, don't we? What, are you scared? Think you're gonna get bullied?"

Eric was stepping closer to Kenny, and Kenny began to back up a little bit. Stan stumbled backwards and out of the way of the larger boy, and Kenny could see the sudden fear on his face.

"Eric I... what are you doing?" Stan called, anxiety on his voice. His question accompanied by a wavering voice, a sign that he was about to go into somewhat of a panic. Butters looked nervously and awkwardly between the fight about to start infront of him and Wendy, unsure of what to do or if he caused this. Kenny attempted to keep an eye on them as he backed up at the same pace Eric walked forward, watching over the red-clad boy's shoulder as best as he could to distract himself.

Kenny's view of the rest of his classmates was obstructed, however, upon taking a misstep and stumbling onto his ass. He was now looking up at Eric, and attempting to scoot backwards. Eric laughed and picked up his pace. "Are you scared? Come on, if you got fucked up by skiing you should just show us!"

"I don't have to prove shit to you!" Kenny shouted, the zipper on his collar unzipping a little to far. Panicked, he reached up and tried to zip it up, still trying to push himself backwards with only his feet. This was to no avail, however, because Eric took this sudden vulnerability as a chance to dive on the blond and grab the fur of his parka hood in his chubby hands.

"Oh, you don't. Not technically, anyway. But I'm so, so curious, and curiosity is a bitch that isn't easily silenced," Eric laughed. His face twisted with a fucked up kind of happiness, one that you'd expect a serial killer on a crime show to have during one of his overly-shown kills. Instead, Eric had this crazed look in his eyes all because he was about to unhood him.

He heard footsteps echoing on the linoleum floor, all approaching him and his former friend. He looked up, fear in his eyes, wrapping his thin fingers around Eric's unnaturally thick wrist and attempting to pull his hands away. He kicked his feet up as best as he could, but yelped a bit as Eric put his weight on his lower limbs.

Eric tutted, laughing. "Sorry, you can't get out of this."

All of his other classmates that he'd seen prior were now behind Eric, watching. From what Kenny could see, their faces were all variations of the same few emotions: fear, confusion, and aticipation. As Kenny continued to struggle, his knuckles started going white. He attempted to grip Eric's wrists harder and push with more force, but to no avail.

He heard more footsteps, coming from behing him. They hadn't turned the corner, but they were coming vaguely from the direction of the auditorium. He was hoping it was a teacher coming to check on all the commotion, but he doubted it. The faculty wasn't nearly as attentive as that. Mentally, he gave a bitter laugh as he imagined his chemistry teacher hooking up with his English teacher. They were known to do that whenever they had free time. They wouldn't give that opportunity up just to break up some petty fight between two Juniors...

"Get the fuck off of me!" Kenny shouted, using all his energy and power to push up. His upper body lifted off the ground just a bit, and this gave Eric the opportunity he needed. The blond gasped in genuine shock and fear as his hood fell off of his head. His face was met with a rush of cold air that almost felt like air conditioning, and his matted locks fell messily in his face.

Eric stared down at him in disbelief. Kenny search Eric's eyes for any clear emotion, but couldnt find one. Instead, he stared blankly down at him. "What... the fuck?" he whispered. His eyes were rapidly moving, and Kenny could only assume he was looking at the full extent of how fucked his face was.

Granted, his face wasn't as bad as other parts of his body, he did have some cringe-inducing scars. His lip had a permanent split in it, he had a pretty long scar going down the left side of his face, he had a scar that was clearly from throat trauma just below his chin... Not to mention the fresh gunshot wound from the night prior.

Eric slowly stumbled to his feet, releaing Kenny's legs and allowing him to scramble backwards. The footsteps he'd been hearing before his hood was removed were closer, but they suddenly stopped when they became louder, signifying they'd turned the corner. He could hear hyperventilation from behind him.

"Eric! What are you doing?" Tweek screamed, his voice shrill with fear. Eric stood completely, and Kenny sat up and pulled his hood over his face one again with trembling hands, pulling his strings tightly and making an attempt to stand on his shaking limbs.

"I was checking to see if what Butters said about this kid was right," Eric said, his voice lacking the attitude it usually did. Through the fuzz of his hood, he could see the dumbfounded look on the boy's face. Eric looked as if he didn't believe what he saw; he looked like he'd seen something that reminded him of things that he'd rather not remember.

Eric didn't have any trauma that Kenny knew of. At least, he didn't know of any of Eric's family who had scars as horrible as his. He wasn't sure what Eric was thinking of, or if he was thinking of anything at all. It was possible that he was just in shock from how fucked up Kenny's face was, and Kenny was okay with thinking that. Most people didn't like to see him unhooded. It was almost as natural to him as it is to see people look away from the homeless.

"Why?! You said he gave you a bad feeling! Why are you trying to anger him?!" Tweek responded, voice loud and choked up. He sniffled, clearing his throat. As he spoke up again, he began to stutter. "You said he might be a convict! What are you trying to do?"

"I wanted to confirm my suspicions, Tweek. Don't make me regret warning you," Eric said, still expressionless.

"Eric, what the fuck are you doing?" came a voice Kenny hadn't heard during this whole episode. It was Kyle's. He turned toward the group of his classmates who'd watched his whole unhooding, noticing Kyle pushing through everyone. "Why is there a crowd? What did you-"

Kyle paused when his eyes fell on Kenny. By this point, Kenny had given up on trying to stand. He was sitting agains the wall, his knees loosely pulled up to his chest, starting blankly at the awkward group of bystanders. Kyle took a moment, balling his fists before swinging at the side of Eric's head wordlessly. Eric stumbled a bit and turned to face Kyle, who now stood as still as a statue, staring at him.

"The fuck?" Eric shouted, rubbing his cheek. Kyle said nothing, simply walking toward Tweek, who was now on his knees sobbing at the other end of the hall. There was some gentle shushing, before Kyle mumbled something to the panicking boy about going somewhere quiet. Kenny heard footsteps retreat back behind the corner that Tweek had emerged from minutes prior.

Kenny remained in his spot for a few moments, gathering himself. His gaze turned to the wall across from him, his eyes stinging with tears he was fighting off. He took a moment, closing his eyes and steeling himself, before attempting to stand once more. He glanced over where the crowd had been prior to the fiasco to see only a few lingering students he didn't recognize immediately. All that mattered was that Eric was gone.

He stood against the wall, taking a few deep breaths and pulling at his hoodie strings once more before walking toward the front entrance of the school.

He couldn't be here. He suddenly no longer cared if he died again. Freezing to death in a blizzard was better than being harrassed about his scars. He didn't have the head to think of any lies. Not any that would remain coherent, anyway.

His heart was pounding as he walked toward the cold glass doors that lead out of the school. Despite being nearly blinded by the sun reflecting off of the snow outside, he began to work on pushing the door open despite the feet of snow that had fallen.

He needed out of the school. _Now._


	6. Chapter 6

The snow had long since stopped. Despite the fact that it only accumulated for a few hours, the snow came up to his thighs. it was powdery, and with every step he took a new cloud of snowy dust puffed up around him. He had long since wrapped his arms around himself for warmth, and his treck back to his house had been nothing but laborious. By the time his home was in sight, he felt like his legs didn't exist anymore- that's how cold they were.

He picked up the pace, running toward his front door. He pulled his bare hands from his pockets and began digging through the snow to the welcome mat placed haphazardly on the small porch. He needed the spare key to get in; his parents were probably too fucked up to hear the doorbell or care enough to open the door at the moment anyway. This had long since stopped bothering him. You can only be upset by your parents shooting up heroin in front of you for so long, after all.

By the time he'd reached the mat, his fingers felt like they were going to fall off. He was so cold, he was sure he would start getting hypothermia if he were to stay outside much longer. He lifted the welcome mat as best as possible, pulling the rusted key out from beneath it, only to return it to its solitude once the door had been unlocked. He kicked some loose snow over the mat once more before twisting the knob and walking inside.

He didn't bother to announce his presence. No one would pay him any mind if he did. Karen was most certainly locked in at her middle school, and Kevin was away at college. His parents, again, were probably too busy making sure they didn't lose their high. He sighed, kneeling down to untie his snow-caked boots. He'd been wearing them all day, and he wasn't sure what time it was, but he knew it was probably nearing 12 hours. They were half a size too small, and sure, it didn't hurt for the first little while, but cramming your feet in a smaller space than they need for so long mixed with so much walking and so, so much cold is only going to cause pain.

He smiled a bit behind the collar of his parka as he slid off his first boot, tossing it to a corner of the ratty living room. The second boot soon followed suit, and he took a moment to just flex his toes and get complete feeling back in his feet. Once he did this, he carefully took off his torn socks, tossing them to a different corner of the living room. His feet were damp, and they felt extremely cold in his barely heated house.

Wordlessly, he stood back up and carefully navigated the living room, avoiding the occasional needle on the floor as he made his way to his room. Before he walked into his room, however, he took a quick glance down the hallway adjacent to him. This hall had one door - the entrance to the master bedroom. He could smell a familiar smell in the air, and it was most certainly coming from his parents.

It was weed mixed with the sickening combination of at least five different candles burning to hide the smell. Of course. His parents probably weren't aware that their two kids who still lived with them would probably be locked away at school. They probably weren't even aware it had snowed. They always burned candles to hide the smell of weed. Despite the fact they left more than enough evidence around the house to show they were hardcore drug users, they always wanted to hide the smell of their weed. It confused Kenny more and more as he got older. Alongside the smell of a Yankee Candle factory burning down, he could hear Bob Marley playing from a half-broken CD player his parents had stolen from a yardsale years ago.

He stared down the hallway just a few moments longer before returning his gaze to his door, opening it slowly as to not make a sound. Once he was inside, he shut the door a bit harder than intended, eyes widening in sudden embarassment and shock as to the sound the door made when it closed. He took a deep breath, holding it as if it would cause his parents to not hear. It's not like they would care, anyway. The music they were listening to was probably far too loud to them, and even if it wasn't, they probably were doing much more than weed. An accidental slam of the door was probably par for the course in their trips, and Kenny realistically had nothing to worry about.

It still unnerved him, however, that there was a possibility his parents could have heard his door close. He didn't want to see them. He didn't have the head nor the energy to have a confrontation today, especially not after what Eric had pulled at school.

His heart raced at the mere memory of what had just happened to him.

Quickly, he unzipped his parka and unceremoniously threw it on the floor, alongside various snack wrappers and comic books he'd never bothered to clean up. He pulled his damp cargo pants off next, leaving him back in what he'd woken up in - boxers and a tanktop.

He made it a point to avoid looking at any of his scars this time, quietly making his way to his bed. It groaned and creaked with the sound of worn out springs as he climbed into it, pulling his comforter over him as he curled into a vague fetal position.

As he lie there, he bit his lip hard to fight off the tears that were forming. Not only had all of his friends forgotten who he was, he was now the target for Eric's more than cruel antics. Despite his efforts, a single tear rolled down his cheek, followed by another soon after. After a few moments, he was sobbing, wrapping his arms around himself once more as he curled into a tighter ball.

Combined with the sound of _No Woman, No Cry_ emanating through the thin walls of his room, his sobs and the music lulled him into a light sleep. Anyone who cared would consider it a well deserved nap.

As his breathing calmed from his sobbing fit he'd just endured, and his body unstiffened, he was able to relax for the first time that day.


	7. Chapter 7

Days passed, and no one recognized Kenny. Somehow, he'd stopped dying long enough to remain in this hellhole of a reality where his friends excluded him from all of their activities. Not that he currently wanted to be bothered with them- the idea of speaking to Eric again scared him.

Ever since the incident on the day of the blizzard, people who were present gave him looks. Most were disgusted, but some were sympathetic. He simply cinched his hoodie tighter and continued on with his day, not caring who looked at him.

Apathy seemed to be a skill needed to survive in this incarnation.

The snow had been plowed from the street since the storm, leaving unnecessarily tall mounds of dirty snow alongside the streets. Kenny walked alongside these mounds, his hands in his pockets as per the usual. A cold breeze blew by, hitting Kenny in the face - or, what was visible of his face. He stopped walking for a moment, letting the chilly breeze pass before walking against it anymore.

The wind had carried the sound of a voice, though. He couldn't hear who it was or what they had said very clearly, but he heard it coming from somewhere slightly left of him. Clearly it was still ahead of him, or the wind wouldn't have been able to carry it to him, but it definitely wasn't directly ahead. Cautiously, he decided to follow this voice.

He treaded the snow slowly, sometimes standing in one spot long enough for his boots to sink a little too deep into the somewhat melting snow. It didn't make him get stuck, no, it was just irritating, and every time he lifted his foot he was scared the sound would startle whoever was speaking. He didn't want them to think he was eavesdropping or anything, despite the fact that's clearly what he was attempting to do. He already had enough people who detested him for things beyond his reach, why would he willingly cause himself any more trouble?

As he got closer, he heard that it was two voices. One of them was shrill and anxious, so that was most certainly Tweek. He heard another voice, slightly lower than Tweek's, but among Tweek's cries he couldn't clearly make out who it was. He stepped forward a bit more, cautiously glancing around to make sure no one could see him.

"I'm sorry! I just... I'm having a really hard time right now and-!" Tweek cut himself off to sniffle, voice cracking toward the end. His voice was rough, like he'd been screaming for a very long time. He didn't know much about Tweek, but he knew that was the boy's specialty.

"You could have talked to me about this sooner," the other voice said. It was nasally, which mixed oddly with the deepness of the voice. Kenny immediately recognized it as Craig. "I could have helped you. We could have talked this out."

"I know and I'm sorry! I just need time, okay Craig?" Tweek said quickly. "I'm sorry."

He heard a very loud sigh, followed by Craig muttering "whatever". Kenny saw the blue-clad boy walk out from behind a house, and quickly made an attempt to look like he had stopped to look at something, or fix his boots, or... anything besides eavesdropping.

Craig didn't seem to notice him as he walked past, seemingly too involved in whatever thoughts were going through his mind to bother looking around himself. Kenny watched as he walked across the icy street and into the woods directly across. After standing there for a moment, he continued to walk home, once again trying to ignore the sound of Tweek crying.

Had he just witnessed their breakup? They hadn't broken up in at least a full year. Briefly, he wondered what happened this time. Tweek did say he needed a break, but he didn't know much of their relationship besides that it was pretty much like this all the time. They'd broken up freshman year, and eighth grade, and twice in seventh... it just happened between them a lot.

The wind picked up once again, but he continued walking this time despite it. His sister was probably going to be home at the same time as him today, and he hadn't seen her in a while. He really, really missed her.

Come to think of it, he hadn't interacted with his family at all this passed week.

When he arrived to his house this time, the porch was finally completely clear of snow. He'd been working on it a little bit every day, as to not have to sink his hands into the snow every single time he came home. Besides, when it melts it just gets icy. That hurts even more than just the snow itself.

He quickly snatched the key from under the mat, unlocking the door and quickly burying the key in the dirt of the dehydrated plant they kept on their porch. He wordlessly took off his boots again, not taking much time to get his feet re-used to anything due to the fact he wanted to see Karen.

He didn't announce his presence; instead, he simply walked cautiously through the living room and down the hallway across from his, where his sister's room was located. He knocked softly, taking his hood off for a moment and pressing his ear to the door to listen for a response. He didn't get one, so he knocked once more, only to get the same result. Slowly and softly, he twisted the doorknob, opening the door slowly and peeking in. "Karen?" he whispered, being cautious in case she were taking a nap.

Karen looked up from her laptop, slowly pulling her earbuds out of her ears. Her eyes were mostly filled with sudden anxiety, and Kenny felt like he'd caught her at a bad time. Maybe she was talking to someone on Skype and didn't want anyone to interrupt? Or maybe-

"Who are you?" she shouted, jumping up from her chair and backing up toward the window near her desk. Kenny blinked.

"It's me, your brother?" he responded, remaining in his place in the doorway.

"My brother is at college! Who are you?" she repeated, voice trembling.

"Kenny? Your other brother?" he answered, hopelessness beginning to fill his heart. _Don't tell me that she doesn't remember me, either,_ he thought, shooting a prayer to whatever God existed. Probably Mormon Jesus, if you were to believe some of the only religious kids at his school.

"My only brother isn't named Kenny!" she whimpered.

"What are you talking about? I'm your older brother. You don't remember me?" Kenny mumbled, eyes stinging with the threat of tears. No, this couldn't be happening. Take away everyone in his life, he'd be fine, but don't take Karen away from him.

"Mom! Dad!" she screamed, starting to cry. Kenny's heart jumped in his chest, and he nearly leaped out of his skin when he heard their door open.

"Is everything okay, Karen?" his mom slurred from her doorway, voice barely loud enough to hear. Now that their door was open, the house smelled immensely of weed and other undefiniable chemical-like scents. Of course, the Yankee Candles were there too.

"There's a weird guy in my room!" she sobbed, backing up completely against the wall just to sink down to the floor with the wall as her only support. "Please get him out!"

"Mom, Dad, is Karen okay?" Kenny called. Immediately, he heard thunderous footsteps, and his father emerged from around the corner. He was holding his gun in hand, his finger on the trigger.

"Who the hell are you?" he mumbled, pointing the gun at Kenny. Kenny raised his arms, backing up against the door, nearly stumbling as it moved behind him.

"Your son! Kenneth McCormick?" he responded, beginning to tremble in fear.

"Like hell you are! We don't got a son named Kenneth," he hissed. Kenny watched as his mom appeared behind his dad, a terrified look on her face. It was similar to the one Eric had given him days ago. "You got ten seconds to get out of this house, boy."

"Wait, I can prove it to you!" Kenny screamed, tears flowing down his face. He didn't even realize he was crying until his cheeks were already getting soggy. He wasn't ready to die. Not now. Not with the knowledge no one remembered him at all.

"Ten," his father growled, stepping forward and aiming the gun a bit more correctly. Kenny could tell he wasn't aiming anywhere fatal - it looked like it was his shoulder. He was frozen in fear.

"Dad!" he screamed, choking on his sobs. He could hear Karen stifiling her sobs with a nearby pillow, but he didn't dare look to her or ask if she was okay. He didn't want to cause her problems, or risk getting shot earleir than needed.

"Nine. Eight."

"Dad please! I'm your son!"

"I already told you, you ain't my son! Seven."

"Stuart, wait!" his mom called.

"Carol, this boy was gonna hurt your baby. Did you want that?" he growled, turning to face his wife. He returned his gaze to Kenny. "Six. Five."

"You're forgetting something!" his mom yelled, tears beginning to flow. Kenny choked on his sobs, doubling over a bit in an attempt to catch his breath.

"Four. Three," his dad continued, ignoring his wife.

"You're making a mistake!" Carol screamed.

"Two. One."

As his father got ready to shoot the gun, his mom lunged at him. The bullet fired, but was off aim. Kenny, who had been returning to a standing up position, screamed in agony as he felt it rip through his abdomen. He collapsed backwards, coughing up blood as he did so.

As he hit the matted carpet, he could faintly hear his mom screaming and Karen screech in terror. His father was shouting, but he couldn't make out what he was saying...

And then the world went black.

 

* * *

 

He awoke in a white room. It wasn't heavenly white or anything, though. Somehow he was alive. At least, it felt like he was. As his vision focused, he looked around a bit more. He heard the beeping of medical machinery around him, and the room smelled grossly sanitized.

He was in the hospital.

"Kenneth! Glad to see you've come to!" a doctor said, his voice all too happy-go-lucky. "You took a mean hit, but we managed to get you patched up! Surprsingly, the bullet completely missed any organs."

Kenny looked up at the doctor, dumbfounded. He had survived that? He never survived gunshots. Ever. Immediately, he realized that the new bullet wound was going to scar. This lead him to realize the doctors saw all of his other scars.

His heart sped up, and the machine hooked up to him beeped faster in tow. The doctor mumbled something to a nurse, who was standing in the door. She ran in and pushed some liquid into Kenny's IV, and he began to feel calmer within moments.

"You're going to stay here for a few nights, and then we'll release you. Do you have anyone you can stay with?"

Kenny stared blankly at the doctor. Did he know he was shot by his dad? Is that why he was asking? Or did his records not pull up any local relatives? He knew the doctors at this hospital weren't that caring about where you went after you were released, so it wasn't a horribly weighted question. He'd just never been asked that bfore.

"Yeah, I do," he lied, giving the doctor a fake smile. The doctor smiled back, humming contentedly.

"Great to hear! We'll be back in a little bit to change your bandages. In the meantime, the remote to your TV is on the table to your right. If you need anything, press the big red button on it, and a nurse will be here as soon as possible!" he chirped, giving Kenny no time to respond with any questions he may or may not have had before leaving. The nurse followed immediately.

He was now alone.

To avoid overthinking about anything, he quickly located the remote and grabbed it, turning it on and flipping through the channels in an attempt to find the most disgustingly engrossing reality show he could find. He'd take anything to distract him from the dull aching in his abdomen and the horrible thoughts in his mind.

He let himself zone out to the mind-numbingly predictable plot of _Keeping Up With The Kardashians_.


	8. Chapter 8

He'd been released from the hospital a few hours prior. They had said some bullshit about how his pain medication was being sent to the nearest CVS, but he had no way to pay for his prescription. Besides, he'd died in worse ways before, the aching of a bullet wound would be like a small knee scrape.

He was re-bundled in the same hoodie he'd been shot in, despite the doctor's pleas for him to wear something from the hospital. In the end, he opted to let them at least sanitize it and patch it up - which they did free of charge, surprisingly. Now he was wandering the streets of the city he knew so well, a brown patch covering the hole put there by his father who had forgotten he existed.

The one thing the doctor said that he did think he should follow through on was resting, though. He knew from experience that being too active while recovering from shit like this could make you die. He instinctively pulled at his hoodie strings as he wandered into an alleyway between a Chinese restaurant and one of the many plastic surgery offices littered around the town. The chill of the January breezes stung his face as he tried to walk against it, and though the alleyway wasn't the best place, it had to be at least okay for a small break.

The alleyway was pretty much the same setup as his parents house- there were used needles everywhere and enough garbage to start a landfill. As he wandered deeper into the dark passageway, he heard a voice.

Eric's voice.

What is Eric doing behind a China Wok? Kenny thought as he cautiously stepped closer, trying to hear what his ex friend was saying.

"...familiar. He looked familiar, and I can't get over it Stan," Eric said, distress in his voice. Kenny continued stepping forward, intrigued.

"I know he did, Eric, but don't jump to conclusions. He died years ago. This has to be a weird coincidence," Stan responded. He sounded just as distressed as Eric, which Kenny wasn't used to. As they'd grown up, Stan had been able to hide his nerves pretty well.

"Stan, I swear to fucking God, that kid is Kenny," Eric shouted, his voice ringing out against the brick alleyway. "Or some sick bastard pretending to be him!"

"Eric, are you crying?" Stan asked in a suddenly very worried voice.

"No! I'm..." Kenny heard a sniffle, "There's a lot of garbage back here, the smell is making me tear up."

"Alright, big guy. Whatever you say," Stan said, clearly not believing him. "I'm heading over to Kyle's house to play Overwatch. Wanna see if Butters wants to join?"

"Butters fucking sucks at Overwatch, dude," Eric mumbled, the sound of crying fresh on his voice. "We can invite him, but I'll have to warn him he's going to get his ass kicked..."

His voice trailed off slowly, but eventually Kenny couldn't hear Stan or Eric trashtalking Butters over his gaming abilites. They'd walked away, and left Kenny to think over what he had overheard.

He had died years ago. Of course he had, but... no one ever remembered. Had he been reincarnated into a timeline he'd already existed in? He was sure he wasn't just reincarnated randomly, that Satan or Jesus or _someone_ had some control over where he went... Whatever the case, either he was accidentally put somewhere he'd been before, or whatever deity had a hand in his most recent reincarnation had plans for him.

Either way, this added a whole new layer of fucked up to his entire situation.

 

* * *

 

He returned to school the next day. It was a Friday, so the general air in the school was that of anticipation for their weekend. Of course, Kenny wasn't interested in his academics. He'd managed to bum a pack of cigarettes off of the Goths, and it only cost him 300% the store cost, but it didn't really matter. All he needed was nicotine.

He had forgotten how young he was when he'd become a habitual smoker, but it wasn't like it was unheard of. In his small little mountain town, almost half of his elementary school had at least tried smoking at one point. He just happened to be among the percentile that kept the habit way beyond their childhood years.

He sat on the counter in the boy's restroom, one leg propped up on the counter as well and the other awkwardly dangling, trying to light his next cigarette in spite of the air conditioner unit in the ceiling almost directly above him. It took him a few tries, but he finally got it.

Despite this being the third cigarette he'd smoked in the past twenty minutes, he still took the first few drags with such a feeling of relief. Whenever he reincarnated, it took about a week or so for his withdraw to start. Usually he wasn't so lucky as to make it a week, but he was now well over a week into his current reincarnation and he'd needed to smoke since his second day in the hospital. He coughed a bit as he finished his first drag, blowing the smoke left in his airway slowly after he regained himself.

The door creaked open, but he didn't flinch. He simply stared up at the flickering light, making an attempt to count how many dead flies were in it. He heard footsteps against the sticky tile as he squinted at the lighting ficture.

The footsteps stopped as expected, but he simply blew more smoke and simultaneously flicked his cigarette, getting some of the cherry off. It landed on the floor. Not that Kenny cared- the bathroom was dirty enough. People snorted coke off the toilet seats, he was sure the faculty would be more than pleased to just find cigarette ashes amidst the unidentified substances on the floor.

Briefly, he began to wonder if he should dabble in some sort of mind altering drug to get his mind off of what he'd overheard the day prior, but before he could wander off on that dark train of thought, the newcomer to the restroom cleared his throat.

"What are you doing?" came the distinctly nasally voice of Craig.

"Smoking," Kenny mumbled, making a point to zip his parka up a bit more than it had been previously. He wanted to smoke, sure, but he didn't want anyone to see more of his face than needed to be exposed.

"You're missing Government," he deadpanned, walking over to the sink. Kenny looked down, pretending to inspect the box of cigarettes in his hand.

"Your point?" he bluntly responded. Craig sighed.

"Can I bum a cigarette?" he asked, voice devoid of any readable emotion. Kenny made a soft noise of agreement before fishing one out of the pack and handing it to the blue-clad boy across from him. In response, he muttered a thanks and pulled his own lighter out of his jacket pocket, seeming to take the same enjoyment in the first drag as Kenny did. "Why have you been hiding out in the bathroom today? You haven't been in any classes."

"How would you know? Are you suddenly the school record keeper?" Kenny laughed, taking a puff of his cigarette soon after.

"We share the same schedule," Craig shrugged. There was a moment of silence between the two before Craig cleared his throat, fixing his stance and looking up at the ceiling. "I heard you had an accident."

Kenny felt his heart drop with anxiety, but laughed it off. "It was nothing. I'm doing better now."

"They announced to us that you were shot. That we should keep an eye out because no one knew who did it," Craig muttered, bringing the cigarette to his lips but not actually smoking it. He seemed lost in thought.

"I'm fine, really," Kenny responded. "Why do you suddenly care so much? You don't care about anything."

Another awkward silence hung in the air, and Craig finally took a long drag of his cigarette. He slowly blew it out, watching it closely as he did so. "No one else is being nice, and you just got fucking shot. What am I supposed to do, let you smoke in the bathroom by yourself?"

"The bathroom is a pretty shitty place to smoke," Kenny laughed, going to take a puff of his cigarette before realizing it was almost burned down to the filter. He shoved it against the countertop and opened the pack of cigarettes again, getting a weird look from Craig in response. "What?"

"You _just_ finished and you're already going to smoke another one?" he asked incredulously.

"You bet your ass I am. I'm too poor to afford my pain medication, I think I should be allowed to smoke however many cigarettes I please."

"Hey, I'm not judging you. Those are just really expensive cigarettes. How'd you get them? Don't tell me-"

"Goths."

"God fucking damn it, Kenny."

Kenny was quiet for a moment before jumping off of the counter. He hadn't taken out another cigarette yet, which was good, because it'd be hard to do what he was about to do while smoking one. Craig pushed himself up from the leaning position he'd taken against the counter. "What're you doing?"

"Ditching. I wanna smoke somewhere that doesn't have the uneasy feeling of teachers barging in hanging in the air," Kenny said simply, turning to face his spontaneous smoking companion. "There's this spot in the woods I found. It's secluded."

"Are you offering to let me join you? I'm flattered, but you could be a serial killer. You've only been at the school for a few weeks."

"Well, you bummed a cigarette off of me, and I payed top dollar for these fucks, so don't you owe me your time?"

Craig gave Kenny a deadpan look before rolling his eyes.

"Whatever."

With that, Kenny performed his routine of kicking open the small window, and this time he let Craig go first. Wasn't he such a gentleman?

As he climbed through the window and quickly pulled it shut behind him, the bathroom door opened, and he could distinctly hear his old elementary school teacher Mr. Garrison (who now worked in the cafeteria at his highschool) scream at the sight of the ashes all over the counter and floor.


	9. Chapter 9

The icy snow crunched underneath the weight of the boys' footsteps as they made their way carefully through the blinding whiteness of the woods. Kenny, of course, navigated the tangled mess of trees and shrubbery like a pro, while Craig stumbled behind. Occasionally, the blond would stop and wait for his newfound companion to catch up to him, teasing him about his inability to keep up before scurrying ahead again.

It was actually pretty fun, Kenny decided.

They continued like this for the roughly ten minutes it took to arrive to the spot Kenny had hid at the first time he'd skipped school since he reincarnated. Quickly, he practically jumped toward the scrap wood planks that acted as a ladder into the structure. "You coming or what?" he called, looking over his shoulder at Craig as the black haired boy ducked under some stray brush.

"Yeah, yeah. This place is a fucking mess. We had to go somewhere in the middle of an icy forest? You seem even _more_ like a serial killer now," Craig called, brushing snow off of his jacket. Kenny gave a laugh as he hoisted himself up the trunk of the tree, taking the ladder two boards at a time.

"God, if I were a serial killer, I would have killed you a while ago," he called, pulling himself into the structure and throwing himself halfway over the railing. "You were practically a gazelle on the way here, and had I been a serial killer I would have been a hungry lion. You're actually pretty lucky I don't roll that way."

Craig rolled his eyes up at the orange-clad boy before walking up to the trunk. Kenny listened as he tried to get a grip on the icy boards, and the strings of swears that ensued as he failed.

"You'd get used to this kind of shit if you got out more."

"Shut up, Kenny."

A puff of icy snow landed on the wood next to Kenny moments later.

"Oh, that's how you want to be? Come at me, gamer boy," Kenny called, pulling snow from a pile that had accumulated in a corner of the treehouse and leaning over the railing, making brief eye contact with a very confused Craig before slamming snow in his face. Craig sputtered, backing up a bit in shock.

"Dude, that fucking hurt!" Craig shouted, his voice echoing for a moment before disappearing into the afternoon chill.

"Don't be a wuss," Kenny grunted as he threw himself back up onto the safety of the deck. His heart was pounding in his chest, especially as he realized he'd just put himself at very,  _very_ high risk of death right then.

But he didn't die. That's all that mattered. He took a moment to calm his breathing, slumping against the rickety railing he'd just leaned over. He brought his hands up to his hood, gripping at the fur of it and pulling it further over his face than it'd been prior. His breathing was heavy, and despite the fact he knew he was sitting in a tree house in an isolated part of the woods, and that he could leave and go anywhere he wanted, he suddenly felt stuck.

He didn't feel uncomfortable with the fact he'd lead Craig to his safe space, no. He more felt like everything was closing in on him. Like him hanging over the railing had been the catalyst for some elaborate life ending event about to happen. His eyes widened beneath the orange fabric of his hoodie as he began to shake, getting lost in his thoughts as the images of his previous deaths replayed in his head.

He felt himself flinch as memories flashed across his mind. Every death involving falling was rushing back to him and hitting him like he was an over-ambitious surfer in the face of a tsunami. He was suffocating. He couldn't breathe. His mind immediately switched to deaths he'd suffered based on breathing. A hand moved from his hood and gripped around his parka near his chest. Oxygen. He wasn't getting oxygen. It didn't feel like it anyway.

He was so lost in his panic, it took him a while to notice someone was hitting his shoulder. His breathing hitched, and he realized as he looked up into the concerned face of Craig that his face was wet.

"Dude, the fuck? Are you okay?" Craig asked, voice oddly serious compared to the conversation they'd had in the bathroom and just moments ago. "You've been freaking out for five minutes."

"I'm fine," Kenny muttered against his parka's collar. Instinctively, sunk a bit lower into the parka, trying to hide his face further. Craig was too close for comfort. He could see the scars. Had he seen them already? He suddenly didn't remember if he was there when Eric unhooded him. His breathing quickened again, but Craig put his hand on the leg Kenny had brought up to his chest at some point.

"Did something happen? Did I do something?" Craig pushed, sincerety in his voice. Kenny glanced into his eyes and saw a genuinely caring guy behind the asshole-ish front he'd put on for so many years. He briefly wondered if Craig would have that weird flash of recognition he'd seen in Eric, but attempted to push the thought away. He was panicking about too much. He didn't need anything else to add onto that.

"Nothing happened. I just... couldn't breathe right is all," Kenny murmered, voice barely loud enough to hear. To Craig, it probably sounded like a pathetic mumble. Maybe what the adults on Charlie Brown sounded like or something.

"Can you take your hood off?" Craig asked. Kenny shook his head quickly.

"No! No..."

"I know it's below freezing, but it might help you. Make you feel more open? You couldn't breathe."

"I can't! I can't..."

They sat in silence for a moment. Kenny was making himself smaller and smaller, and Craig just looked on.

Kenny felt so self conscious. He was never like this. Not infront of anyone. Especially not infront of Craig. He felt so open, so vulnerable, so...

"My face is too fucked up to take my parka off," he finally said, breaking the silence only for a moment. This time, the silence fell like a heavy wool blanket. It was uncomfortable, and though both of them were itching to say something, nothing came of it.

Not until Craig cleared his throat.

"I heard that Eric pulled that bullshit stunt. Tweek told me about it," Craig muttered. "Listen, I know I'm an asshole, but I wouldn't be like him. I don't think youre a convict or anything. My serial killer comments were jokes-"

"No, it's fine. I get it a lot," Kenny laughed. After a moment, he took a deep breath to steel himself before unzipping the collar of his parka. Slowly and shakily, he raised his hands to pull his hood down, tears threatening to spill over and race down his already slick cheeks as his skin was revealed to the cold air.

Craig looked at him in vague disbelief for a moment, and Kenny instictively turned away, looking anywhere but in the other boy's direction.

"You didn't have to-" Craig started, but was cut off by Kenny.

"Go ahead. Ask me why I look like I'm some sort of DC Villain reject or something," he muttered, biting his already fucked up lip as a tear spilled. "Or ask me if my parents bashed a bottle on my head one too many times."

He wasn't sure why he was unloading on Craig like this. Maybe it's just that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Except that Kenny had pulled him out here and wasn't making any active attempt to vacate the premises to escape his impulses.

"I wasn't going to ask any of that, I just-"

"You were thinking it. Everyone does. I don't look like I should! I'm fucked up, and if you think I look like a freak it's okay!" Kenny interrupted, voice breaking in places as it raised in volume.

"Kenny, are you okay? Do you... want me to go or something? Do you need time alone?" Craig asked bluntly. Kenny knew he didn't mean it to, but it sounded suddenly really rude. He immediately pulled his hood back on and stood on shakey legs without another word. "Wait! Wait, Kenny-" Craig called as the boy placed his hands firmly on the railing of the treehouse. "I'm sorry! I was rude, I-"

Before Craig could finish his thought, Kenny had jumped the railing and landed in a sprint toward the deeper part of the woods. And that's exactly where he was going.

He didn't care where he ended up, he just cared that Craig was incapable of chasing him through the woods.


	10. Chapter 10

Sharp pain shot through his abdomen as he took laborious breaths, his chest rising and falling in an almost cartoonish matter as he slumped against a tree. He hadn't run very far, or for very long, but his body was begging for him to stop. He put a hand over the stitched up wound out of unconscious need and grunted as his ass hit the icy dirt at the base of the tree.

He didn't know why that had just happened. He was never like that around anyone. Sure, Craig had no prior knowledge of Kenny to know that he wasn't normally like this, but that didn't make it any better. That meant that this incarnation of Craig thought that he was some skittish wuss. Sure, in reality he wasn't even close to strong, but he had appeared it for so long. Why was his facade breaking now?

"Damn it," he muttered, breath causing the cold air to condense and form a soft puff of smoke. It reminded him what he'd come into the woods to do. Quickly, he patted his pockets, feeling for his lighter and cigarettes. After a few moments of frantic searching through his parka, he let out another expletive, slamming his hand against the ground. His hand surged with pain, but he didn't really care. His $20 pack of cigarettes was somewhere in the woods.

Tears began to fall again, this time out of pure frustration rather than near-PTSD levels of panic. Everything was going wrong for him, wasn't it. Someone in a higher position of supernatural authority was either really bored or really hated him for all of this to be happening. He attempted to think back to the times he'd met Satan when he was unlucky enough to stay in the afterlife longer than usual. He didn't seem like he would willingly fuck with someones life to this extreme, so maybe it was God. Not Jesus. Jesus was cool. He lived in South Park too. Or... he used to. Someone had told him that Jesus moved a few years prior.

He adjusted himself against the tree, biting his lip in pain at the pain in his abdomen. Hesitantly, he lifted his parka to see if he'd broken any stitches. Which... he had. He wasn't bleeding too badly, but it was still enough to be of concern.

He didn't have a cellphone, and he was alone in some part of the woods that he wasn't familiar with. While he was pretty sure he'd ran in a straight line, he couldn't be entirely positive. It was probably a total of half a mile back to the school, and he wasn't sure he could run that far without fucking up the would more than it already was. Walking would take too long, too, and would only prolong how much pain he was in.

He regretted running from Craig. He had no fucking reason to run from him. He could have bullshitted some diagnosis or something, but of course his fight or flight instincts would kick in for something so trivial. Why didn't they kick in whenever he died?

He huffed, his breath blowing away in the breeze passing through the woods. The bloodflow wasn't bad, no, but it still was there. Hesitantly, he slid off his parka and pulled his already fucked up tanktop off. His torso was now at risk of becoming a popsicle made of 100% organic human ingredients, but he didn't care. At least, he didn't care right then.

The tanktop was cheap and old, so it tore easily. He tore strips of fabric and began to tie them around his midsection, making sure it was tight enough to at least slow the bleeding. He didn't want to die. Not in the middle of the woods.

He continued to tear strips of his tanktop and tie them around his abdomen until he was out of usable fabric. At that point, he felt like he was wearing some sort of corset, so he figured that'd help at least a little bit. All he needed to do was get back to the school and find out what to do from there.

Lazily, he pulled his parka back on and zipped it up, throwing his hood on as he did so. He took a moment to breathe, leaning against the tree and staring up at the icicles above him before pulling himself to his feet.

With a great effort, he began to slowly walk himself back to the school.

 

* * *

 

When he'd passed the tree house, it had been vacated. He'd thought about checking for his cigarettes as he passed, but the wetness against his abdomen implied that he hadn't completely fixed his problem. By the time he made it back to the school, it was final period, and his orange parka now had a nice little bit of red on it.

He slowly made his way up the front steps to the school and pushed open the door. It took more effort than usual, but it was probably on account of the fact he was freezing and bleeding and still recovering from the painkillers he'd been on. He had never been to the nurse in this school, but instict told him to just keep walking and someone would find him.

And find him someone did. Mr. Garrison was walking out of the principals office, and made direct eye contact with Kenny as he walked like a zombie who had a bad stomachache through the halls. "You! Get over here this instant, young man!" he shouted, anger in his voice. Kenny merely looked up at him, his eyes watering with pain he was trying to ignore. The look on his old teacher's face softened slightly, and he hurried forward to help Kenny walk. Without a word, he lead him to the nurse's office.

Kenny didn't know the nurse's name, but as he lied on the shitty examination table and answered questions about his recent injury, he came to one conclusion. She was smoking hot.

Granted, he'd more began to lean toward boys in his older years, he still had an appreciation for a nice pair of tits. And boy fucking howdy did she have a nice pair. He refrained from making a comment, mostly on account of the pain clouding his mind, but he made a mental note to recall the memory of her shoddily hidden cleavage if he ever needed help tenderizing his meat.

"Dear, you do realize it's against school rules to leave the building without prior permission given by faculty, correct?" the nurse asked as she began to unpeel Kenny's makeshift bandages. He watched as her face twisted into a mix of disgust and worry, her fingertips staining red as she got closer to the broken stitches.

"I figured I wouldn't get a pass for smoking, so I let myself out," he replied bluntly, voice a bit more strained than he'd intended. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the nurse rolling her eyes.

"It's illegal, you know. Smoking underage?" she commented, tossing the bloodied fabric she'd taken off thus far into a nearby trash can.

"It's illegal to sell nicotine to a minor, but not for a minor to smoke," Kenny corrected. This caused the nurse to fall silent for a moment. As she unwrapped the final piece of fabric to reveal the damage done to his wound, he heard her take a breath as if she was going to speak. Her breathing quickly hitched as she lifted the fabric, however. Kenny knew why. it was the same reason he'd ran from Craig earlier.

She had a look of horror in her eyes, and it took her a few moments to regain herself. The only reason her focus came back as fast as it did was because Kenny had decided to pipe up with a quick "quit looking at the merch, doc. We were just talking about how I'm underage." The nurse looked appalled that Kenny would even suggest such a thing, especially since their small little town was no stranger to pedophilic faculty, but at least it worked to avoid any comments or questions on his cross-hatched abdomen.

It was a simpler fix than he'd expected, granted it hurt like a bitch. All she had to do was re-stitch some of the areas that had broken, and reinforce the other areas to make sure the stitches didn't pop. Of course, there was also precautionary disinfection that happened, and Kenny wasn't ashamed to admit he screamed and swore like a sailor when it touched him. He was sure anyone else would have reacted in the same way.

Once all was said and done, the nurse rolled her stool to the sink on the opposite of the room and turned the water on, leaving Kenny to stare at the ceiling and try to ignore the new kind of pain pulsing from his abdomen. He barely noticed when she said his name, but the mention of the word "needed" alongside the phrase "principals office" brought him to attention.

"Excuse me?" he asked, propping himself up on his elbows. The nurse shot over to him and pushed him down gently, shaking her head.

"Don't do that! Give yourself a second, I just re-stitched your..." she stopped for a moment, referring to her chart, "...bullet wound?!"

"We went over this already. I got shot. They don't know who it was," he responded, deadpan. Of course he wasn't going to rat his dad out to some nurse he was going to jack off to the memory of later. He needed that time alone, and he wasn't going to let her know that he got shot by his own parent. That'd kill his boner.

"Christ," she mumbled under her breath, and he swore she'd crossed herself subtly before taking a breath and clearing her throat. "A-anyway... you're needed in the principals office after school hours. Until then, you can rest here. Take this, though."

She handed him two pills - he assumed these were ibuprofen - which he took between his fingers and dropped into his mouth, dry swallowing them as she turned to get him water. When she faced him again and saw the pills were gone, she stared in minor disbelief before setting the paper cup down and standing.

"I need to go fill out paperwork, but the minute you hear that final bell you need to go see the principal. Don't get into anything, or you'll be getting a visit from the sherrif."

With that, she was out the door, and Kenny was left with only the humming of the fluorescent lights ahead and his racing thoughts.

He pulled his parka back down over his freshly stitched and bandaged wound and adjused himself to get comfortable on the brick of an examination table.

If he got detention for ditching, Craig probably was going to as well. He wasn't ready to face him. He didn't know why, but his chest felt weird when he thought about seeing Craig again. Probably embarassment from his outburst, or guilt for roping him into something that got him punished, but we wasn't so sure. This feeling wasn't of embarassment or guilt. It was something he wasn't sure what to call, and he knew for sure he hadn't really felt it before.

Not since he and Butters had been caught kissing in the janitor's closet in eighth grade, anyway.


	11. Chapter 11

Leaving your purse in the room of a teenager with a criminal record is a very, very poor decision. Leaving your wallet in said purse is practically asking for it. At least, that's how Kenny rationalized stealing a few tens from the nurse's wallet. For school faculty, she was pretty loaded. The one dollar bills lazilly stuffed in a shitty looking wallet hidden in a pocket in the purse only further solidified the theory that the nurse worked night shifts in sleazy parts of town, healing broken hearts and giving incredible checks for the wellness of the crotchal region. Unless this weird alternate universe had the odd social norm of tipping your school faculty, she was most definitely stripping.

He'd managed to neatly put the wallet back where it was in the purse moments before the rightful owner returned to the room. Luckily, this was just as the bell rang, so Kenny had an excuse as to why he was already up and going.

That was two hours ago.

Currently, he was sitting in the alleyway next to Jimbo's Guns. He knew they never checked for ID, and that they sold cigarettes to anyone who knew about them. A lot of kids bought cigarettes for their parents - perks of living in a small town, he guessed. He was continuing his habit of smoking cigarette after cigarette with almost no break, staring at the sky, trying to ignore how stiff his face was from crying.

He'd become such a softie ever since he last reincarnated. He hated how easily he'd been crying recently, but he figured it came with the fact his entire life was now different. And in reality, that day only confirmed just how different it was.

He flicked the button on his lighter, bringing the small flame to light and bringing it to the fresh cigarette between his lips as he mentally ran through his meeting with the principal for the fifth time.

 

* * *

 

 

_Kenny sat across from the principal's desk, his abdomen feeling like it had a watermelon in it from the swelling. He couldn't feel any pain, but he knew for sure it felt like he was carrying quintuplets. However, despite this feeling, he didn't look like a mother of an ungodly amount of children about five seconds from going into labor. The swelling didn't even show. It just felt weird._

_As he mused over how sanitized the nurse's supplies had been during the re-sewing of his wound, the door behind him opened. "Oh, Mr. Kenneth. I didn't expect you to be in here before me," came a familiar voice._

_"Well, Mr. Mackey, I can be punctual when I wanna be," Kenny chuckled, turning around in his chair to make eye contact with his old Elementary School counselor. He wasn't sure how, but in this universe, the principal was Mr. Mackey. He didn't expect it, and if his friends were still his friends he'd totally be shit-talking his leadership skills with them after whatever he was in the office for._

_"I see," the balding man hummed, making his way to his desk. "So I assume you're aware why you're here?"_

_"Tardiness, skipping school, if I miss again I'll be a truant," Kenny listed, turning back around in his chair and waving his hand dismissively in the air. "Nothing I haven't heard before."_

_"Well, yes, that is very true. If you were to miss again without a note, you would be a truant. But... Kenneth," Mackey folded his hands on his desk, leaning forward a bit. "We attempted to check your records to see how many times you've skipped this year, but we have nothing on you before the past two weeks."_

_Kenny looked at his teacher, face expressionless. He didn't know what to say. Luckily, he didn't have time to get a word in edgewise, because Mr. Mackey continued to speak._

_"We have absolutely nothing on you. We don't know your family, your passed grades... You seem like you appeared out of thin air. I need to ask you some questions, m'kay?"_

_"Whatever," Kenny mumbled, going to pull his parka hood up over his hair. As he did this, Mr. Mackey tutted._

_"No, no. First, I need to ask you where you got all of the uh..." he trailed off, motioning to his own face with his hands to signify the end of his question. Kenny sighed, lowering his hands and rolling his head back._

_"Skiing accidents," he lied._

_"M'kay, well... We have a student who believes you're lying about those being injuries from skiing accidents," Mackey sighed. "They said they have reason to believe that you're a... erm... delinquent."_

_It felt like a fire suddenly ignited in Kenny's chest. He suddenly remembered the events of his first day in this hellhole of an incarnation, when Eric had unhooded him in front of several of his classmates. Hadn't Eric called him a convict back then...?_

_Kenny stood, fury written on his face. "Who told you?" he shouted. He slammed his hands on the desk in front of him a bit harder than he'd intended, rattling some of his principal's desk ornaments and the utensils in his pencil cup. "Was it Eric?"_

_"I-I'm not at liberty to say, Kenneth, but I'm going to need to ask you to sit down before I need to involve the police in this any sooner than necessary," he spoke, eyes wide but voice oddly calm. "I'm not saying you are a convict, m'kay? I'm just saying what I've been told, and I need to take every student's concern into account."_

_The blond took a few deep breaths before sitting back down, head starting to pound with the feelings of an oncoming headache. Of course, the bullet wound wouldn't hurt on ibuprofen but his head would._

_"I've also had a concerned student tell me that they think you're impersonating one of their dead friends," Mackey continued. The fire in Kenny's chest only swelled a little bit, remembering what he'd heard in the alleyway behind the China Wok the day prior. He didn't dare say anything, though. Not now. Not after Mackey had just threatened the police. "I asked your teachers for your last name, but they said you'd been absent so much that they'd never gotten it from you. And, again, you aren't on file, so..."_

_"So what? You want me to tell you my last name so you can see if I coincidentally match the name of their dead friend?" Kenny practically spat, teeth gritted to avoid raising his voice at his principal. "Coincidences are a bitch, Mr. Mackey, and I don't appreciate you accusing me of being a criminal as well as an identity thief."_

_"No accusations are being thrown, Kenneth. We simply needed to know your last name-"_

_"It's McCo-"_

_"-So we went into your locker."_

_Kenny felt his heart drop to his stomach._

_After he'd hung out in the alley next to the China Wok, he'd made his way back to his parent's house. They would both be out working their dead end jobs, and Karen wouldn't be home, so he let himself in to get his stuff. Of course, they were dirt poor, so he barely had anything. He only took his wallet and a few pairs of boxers to change into if need be and got out of there as fast as he could. He still had his student ID in his wallet, and he'd thrown it in his locker._

_"Kenneth, you share an uncanny resemblance to a student I had in my fourth grade class when I worked at South Park Elementary. His name was Kenneth McCormick as well, and he had that same dirty blond hair that you do."_

_A lump began to form in Kenny's throat, and every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run._

_"I don't believe this is just a coincidence, Kenneth. I think I believe the student who gave me the tip. Impersonation is a serious crime. I can only imagine what that boy's family would say if they knew what you were doing."_

_Kenny wanted to scream. He wanted to break things, he wanted to throw his fist through the wall. He wanted to kick Mackey until his face was a bloody unrecognizable mess. Deep in his subconscious, he knew that it wasn't his principals fault. He knew that this specific incarnation was out to get him more than usual. He knew that Mackey had no control over how the world decided to fuck with him. But that didn't stop Kenny from being angry._

_He quickly stood to his feet, biting the inside of his cheek harshly to stop himself from screaming, or crying, or cursing Mackey out. He heard his principal call out after him, but he couldn't stay in that office any longer. If he did, he would have another charge. Or... his first charge, in this case. And he'd prove Eric right._

_He slammed the office door shut behind him and managed to make his way to and through the front doors of the school without any problems._

 

* * *

 

 

Kenny went to take a drag of his cigarette as he finished reliving what had transpired only a couple hours prior, but found that he'd begun smoking the filter. With a loud expletive, he smashed the cigarette against the concrete ground, brushing the ashes that had fallen on him while he zoned out off of him in the same motion. He groaned in anger at himself for wasting a cigarette from one of the few packs he'd bought, taking another out and lighting it immediately.

He took the first drag of his fresh cigarette, exhaling slowly as rested his head against the brick wall of the gun shop. He closed his eyes slowly, tilting his head back to face the sky.

He was officially homeless, a highschool drop out, and apparently an uncanny impersonator of dead children. All it took was hundreds of reincarnations. He took the cigarette out of his mouth briefly to flick off the already too long cherry, holding it between his fingers as he sighed.

As he went to bring the cigarette back to his lips, he stopped. His heart pounded in his chest, and it felt like something had actually clicked in his brain.

He wasn't in a universe where people didn't know him. He was in a universe where people did know him.

He was in a universe where he had died already, and people were convinced he was some sicko who impersonated dead children.

He jumped to his feet, practically crumpling the pack of cigarettes that had been lazily tossed between his legs while he was sitting when he grabbed it. In a blind rush of addrenaline from the realization that took him far too long to come to, he speedwalked out of the alleyway and made his way down the sidewalk. He shoved the damaged carton of cigarettes into his parka pocket as he reached up and threw his hood over his head, tightly pulling at the hoodie strings as he continued to walk.

Dead kid impersonator his ass. He had to convince everyone that he actually was Kenneth McCormick.

The only way he could do this was to speak to the only person who'd paid him unbiased mind in the past two weeks. He needed to see Craig again.

As he walked, he prayed a quick prayer to whatever supernatural being even cared about him that Craig hadn't been turned against him in the few hours since they'd last interacted. He couldn't lose his only foothold into this incarnation.

The full reality of the situation began to set in, and he sped up his pace once more in an attempt to outrun any feelings.

He couldn't think about this anymore at the moment, or he might fuck his life up more than it already currently was.


	12. Chapter 12

Rotting wood planks creaked under someone's weight. Kenny lit another cigarette as a certain black haired boy appeared in the treehouse.

"What, did you call me out here so you can have some sort of episode and run off again?" Craig deadpanned, sitting close enough to the ladder that one wrong move would send him plummeting the whole 20 feet to the ground. Kenny gave a dry laugh.

"Yeah, real funny. I'm sorry about that," he mumbled, taking a puff of his cigarette before taking his hood completely off. Without another word, he opened the damaged box of cigarettes and handed one to Craig, who took it and put it between his lips. As Craig fished through his pockets for a lighter, Kenny flicked the cherry off his cigarette and cleared his throat. "I have a problem."

"Clearly," Craig scoffed, pulling a dark blue lighter out of his pocket and cupping a hand around his cigarette as he tried to light it. It took him a few tries, but he finally got it.

"No, like..." Kenny trailed off, looking at the sky. He didn't know how to bring this up to Craig. He didn't know how the hell you casually tell someone that you've died in this timeline once already and now you're being suspected of identity theft now that you're back.

"Like...?" Craig spoke up after a moment. Smoke blew Kenny's way, signifying to his slightly zoned-out eyes that the boy had just taken a drag of his cigarette.

"I... I don't know how to word it, I guess," Kenny mumbled. Craig sighed.

"So then why did you leave me that note asking me to meet you here?" he sighed. Ashes flew toward Kenny as Craig flicked his cigarette. The wind wasn't really liking the blond boy recently.

"I guess I just... didn't want to be alone right now," Kenny shrugged, looking off to the side to avoid seeing Craig at all. What the fuck was Kenny becoming, being so weak like this? "I don't feel safe on my own."

"Like, are you gonna fuckin' kill yourself or something?" Craig asked. It didn't sound entirely serious, and Kenny was glad for that. _God, if only I could_ , Kenny thought as he gave a soft laugh.

"Nah. I just..."

He got an idea.

"My family kicked me out. I was gonna ask if I could crash at your place seeing as you're the only person in the whole school who doesn't hate me right now."

"I don't hate you, but I also barely know you. I don't think chainsmoking with the new transfer is grounds for being close enough to let him spend the night in your house," Craig responded. Kenny sighed.

"I can pay you? I don't have a lot," he offered. He reached into his cargo pants pockets, pulling out a few of the tens he had left from his little haul he'd gotten from Nurse Stripper earlier. Craig raised an eyebrow curiously.

"Ten bucks a night," Craig said blankly. "If you let me bum smokes off of you, five a night will be fine."

"Deal," Kenny mumbled, reaching a hand out to shake Craig's. Craig simply shook his head and pulled his backpack off his back.

"Here's my address," he said offhandedly, scribbling both his address and the directions to his house from the school on a piece of notebook paper. He tore it out of the notebook and handed it to Kenny. "We eat dinner at 6:30, and my parents are usually in bed by 8. I'll let you in the downstairs bathroom window at 8:30."

"Okay," Kenny nodded slowly, looking over the address. He'd been to Craig's house before, but only a few times. Mostly when they were playing their weird fantasy game when they were kids... it had been a while. Before the blond could say anything else, Craig had disappeared back down the ladder, leaving a still smoldering cigarette butt on the floor of the treehouse. Quickly, Kenny threw his leg out from the cross-legged position he'd been sitting in and stomped it out, in no mood to burn to death in what remained of his childhood in this timeline.

Be at the downstairs bathroom window by 8:30? Last he'd checked it was somewhere around 5:30, so he had a few hours.

He put out his cigarette less than a centimeter before the filter and immediately began to smoke another.

 

* * *

 

The neighborhood was still and quiet, despite the fact it was a Friday. Quietly, Kenny was waiting outside the bathroom window of Craig's house, debating if he should smoke a cigarette while waiting for his acquaintence to unlock the window. It'd be a waste if the window were to open anytime soon, because he didn't know if he could smoke in the house, and putting out a cigarette a minute or so after lighting it would suck. But if Craig was going to take an incredibly long time, he would need to smoke to push off the habit he'd re-kindled in the span of one day. He looked down at his almost finished pack that he only started that afternoon, sighing.

Just as he went to pull a cigarette out of the pack, he heard the sound of a latch moving. Quickly, his head shot around to see Craig sliding the window open, offering a hand out to the blond.

"They've been asleep for at least an hour, so I don't think you need to worry about waking anyone up," Craig stated, voice just as expressionless as his voice. Kenny tucked the cigarette back into the pack, putting the pack in his pocket before grabbing Craigs hand and climbing through the window.

Craig's bathroom smelled like those bodywashes that advertize a powder fresh scent but smell more like the ghost of a perfume aisle. The room itself seemed too clean to have actually been used at all in the past while, and his face had apparently given this observation away.

"This is the guest bathroom. We don't ever come in here unless we're making sure it's clean for guests," Craig nodded. "The stairs are just outside. Be quiet, because my parents' room is at the very top of the steps." Kenny simply blinked in response, watching as Craig slowly opened the bathroom door and walked outside. He motioned for the blond to follow, which he quickly did, staying on his toes to try to minimize walking noises.

The stairs weren't creaky, much to the relief of Kenny. Their ascent was without any complications, and within seconds they were inside Craig's room. The blond took in the environment as they entered.

The walls were a green that reminded him of what the woods look like in the months they have no snow. The room was messy, but nowhere near as bad as his own house could get. There was a distinct smell of rodent, and the source was definitely the hamster cage in the far left corner of the room. As Kenny wandered further into the room, he noticed a really nice flat screen TV with a PS3 hooked up to it. A sofa that seemed more than used sat vaguely across from the TV, and the bed wasn't far from there.

"You can throw your parka anywhere," Craig said nonchalantly, pulling his sweatpants off to reveal simple blue boxers. Kenny began to take his parka off, but stopped when he remembered he had nothing on beneath it. Not only would that show off his scars, but... it'd just be a little awkward.

"Uh. Do you have a shirt I can borrow? I know it's weird to ask, but-"

He was cut off by Craig walking over to his dresser and pulling out an old band t-shirt. Kenny held it out infront of him, seeing the faded image of Green Day's _American Idiot_ album cover on it. Quickly, he retreated into the bathroom attached to Craig's room with a quiet "excuse me", pulling his parka off and looking at the bandage the nurse had applied earlier. It was just some gauze held in place by medical tape, and it had a pinkish tint to it.

Seeing the bandage made his abdomen ache.

He pulled the t-shirt over his head, feeling comforted by how loose it was on him. He realized that the scars on his arms were visible, but hoped that if Craig noticed, he'd assume it was from cutting or something of the sort and wouldn't question. He gathered his signature coat in his arms and emerged from the bathroom. "Hey, where do I put this?"

"Anywhere," Craig shrugged. He was perched on the worn sofa now, a PS3 controller in hand. "What kind of shit do you like to watch?"

"Ah..." Kenny tried to think as he looked for an out-of-the-way area to put his parka, but nothing really came to mind. He never watched much TV, and what TV he did watch was uninteresting at best and upsetting to remember at worst. "I don't really watch anything."

"You like action?"

"I guess."

"Cool. Civil War is on netflix, let's watch that."

Kenny pulled the money out of his parka pocket along with his cigarettes before making his way over to the sofa to watch whatever movie Civil War was. He almost habitually pulled out a cigarette to begin smoking, but he remembered he should probably ask permission. Before he could, Craig simply held out his hand. Kenny quietly dropped a cigarette in Craig's hand before pulling his own cigarette out, putting it between his lips and pulling the lighter from the plastic of the cigarette pack.

"You seem like you know how to sneak someone in really easily," Kenny commented, watching Craig's hands as he held the unlit cigarette between his thumb and the PS3 controller. The black haired boy's fingers were moving skillfully over the joysticks and buttons of the remote as he navigated Netflix.

"Tweek couldn't ever be alone," Craig said simply. The way he put it, it felt like he just assumed Kenny would know who Tweek was, both in terms of the person and in terms of who he was to Craig. "My parents don't care that I'm gay, they just care that I'd have a boy sleep over. I had to get him in without them knowing, or they'd think we were having sex or something."

Kenny lit his cigarette, giving a soft chuckle at the mention of sex. He just couldn't see Craig doing anything involving butts or dicks.

"But Tweek and I broke up a little over a week ago, so it's been pretty weird not sneaking someone in almost every night. Plus, Tweek never brought cigarettes," Craig continued, despite Kenny not promting him to. Not that Kenny was complaining- this was actually pretty nice. It'd been a while since anyone had been anything more than casual with him in terms of conversation.

"Tweek seems like he wouldn't smoke," Kenny commented as Craig scrolled through the multitude of poorly rated movies on the screen. "He's too jittery."

"I mean, he didn't want to get addicted. Or get cancer. It's understandable, but we all die one day, so might as well go on your own terms, right?"

The question felt rhetorical, and to Kenny's relief it was. Before he had a chance to respond with any sort of oversharing about his inability to die, Craig found the movie he was looking for and selected it. He set the PS3 remote on the box in front of the sofa that acted like a coffee table, simultaneously picking up his lighter that had been in the remote's way. The sound of the lighter clicking and the image of the Marvel logo on the screen managed to distract Kenny enough to let him relax. He eased into his corner of the sofa, taking a puff of his cigarette as he did so.

Despite the themes of death, betrayal, and fighting, the movie distracted him from his thoughts much more than anything else he could have managed on his own. He felt safe for the first time in the past while.

For the first time in a while, he felt like he wasn't a stranger to everyone he cared about.


	13. Chapter 13

Since he was technically expelled on account of the whole scandal that he was purposefully trying to mentally fuck with his ex friends, he hung out in Craig's room during school hours. Craig had assured him that his parents never came in his room during the day, so he'd be fine to do whatever he wanted. Currently, Kenny was perched on the sofa he'd been on since last night, playing whatever Call of Duty game had already been in the PS3. It's not like the specific title mattered, every game was practically the same.

This had become his routine over the past week or so he'd been staying with Craig

He glanced to his right at the digital clock on his roommate's bedside table, noticing that it was getting time for him to come home. When Craig came home, Kenny had to leave for a few hours. Not that it was a big deal, he didn't have much of an opposition to wandering around town for a while. Who knew, maybe he'd find some cheap prostitute he could hook up with. He wasn't that far off from 18, and he knew from some of the kids at his school that half of them didn't check for legal ID, so...

The door to Craig's bedroom opened, and the boy himself wandered through it, tossing his hat toward his bed and his jacket soon after. Kenny opened his mouth to say "hey", but decided against it when he saw Craig's face.

It was tear-stained.

"Holy shit, what's the matter?" Kenny asked quickly, placing the PS3 controller on the sofa and standing pretty quickly. He hadn't thought to pause the game, so the background noise was now going to be the lovely sound of his character being shot, followed by the god awful game over and menu songs. Craig waved him off, shaking his head a bit. He seemed like he was fighting off tears.

"Nothing, it's nothing," he mumbled. He sniffled, lazily dropping onto his bed as he walked toward it. Kenny furrowed his brow, cautiously stepping toward the black haired boy.

"Craig, you can talk to me," he said softly, trying to seem comforting. Craig shoved his face into a pillow, coughing into it.

"Just give me a cigarette," he groaned. Kenny sighed and fished his cigarettes out of his pants pocket, pulling one out and handing it to his upset friend. He lifted his head from the pillow at the sound of the box opening and gladly took the cigarette, reaching over to his bedside table for his lighter. Kenny eased himself onto the edge of the bed as Craig lit his cigarette.

They were silent for a few minutes, Kenny awkwardly fidgeting with his box of cigarettes and Craig smoking. The only sounds that broke through this silence were Craig's occasional sniffles and the squeaking of Craig's hamster as it ran on it's wheel. When Kenny noticed Craig die out the cigarette long before it should have been, he sighed.

"Do you need some alone time?" he asked, looking over at Craig. Craig's eyes were a bit vacant, and Kenny wasn't sure what to do. He seemed really, really upset. After a minute of no reply, the blond got up from where he was sitting and wandered over to the window adjacent to Craig's bed. He was about to unlatch it and climb out, granting Craig the time he needed to be sad or whatever, when he heard his voice.

"I..." Craig's voice cracked as he spoke up. He cleared his throat and sniffled before continuing, despite the fact he sounded choked up. "I won't be here tomorrow or the next day."

Kenny raised an eyebrow, turning his attention from the window to Craig. "Why not? Is everything alright?"

"No," Craig mumbled, beginning to cry now. "It's not. Nothing is okay, Kenny."

Kenny had never seen Craig like this. Craig was emotionally raw, as opposed to how apathetic he seemed. It was... almost uncomfortable.

"Tweek fucking died," Craig choked out, doubling over with sobs as he said it. Kenny felt his heart drop into his chest. Tweek died...? He wanted to ask how, but it was almost as if Craig read his mind. He sobbed harder as he banged his fist into the wall, beginning to shout. "His fucking parents were drugging him! They put too much in his coffee and now--" he took a shuttering breath, sobbing more, unable to finish his sentence.

Kenny didn't know what to do. He wanted to console Craig, tell him it'd all be okay, but he knew it wouldn't be. Tweek was gone forever now, and that kid was probably the most important thing to Craig.

"I'll need you to watch my hamster while I'm at his f..." he couldn't finish the word, but Kenny knew what he was going to say. He took another labored breath before continuing. "My parents won't be home. You'll be fine."

Craig took a few breaths before pulling himself up and walking shakily to his bathroom. "Sh... Should I leave now?" Kenny asked softly. Craig simply nodded.

"I'll let you back in at 9."

With that, Kenny grabbed his parka from next to the window and put it on. Immediately after zipping it up, he threw the window open and climbed out, taking extra caution as to not fall this time. Craig was already dealing with one death, dealing with another wouldn't do him much good.

 

* * *

 

His abdomen hurt more than usual. As he wandered the streets of South Park, it felt like his heartbeat was in his stomach. Every step sent a small surge of pain through his body. It probably wasn't anything bad, just the fact that he had to be re-stitched a week ago by the nurse at the school. He was probably just healing...

He stopped when he heard the distinct sound of yelling. Argumentative yelling. As he rounded the corner, he saw a crowd of people outside of the only coffee shop in town - Tweek Bros Coffeehouse. There was a news van and police and a huge crowd of the local residents. He could hear a news reporter shouting questions, and as he got closer he saw Mr. and Mrs. Tweak backed against the glass door of their shop.

"Is it true you lace your products with crystal Methamphetamine?" a woman asked, voice raised. Mrs. Tweek stammered in response, seeming like she was going to tell the obvious truth of yes, but her husband stepped in.

"We aren't saying anything until we speak with our lawyer," he said, emotionless. It's almost as if his son didn't just die of a fatal drug overdose. The crowd started shouting, but the police somehow managed to calm them down.

"You are aware your products killed your son, aren't you?" the anchor said, her voice that of shock and disgust at how noncaring the man was. Kenny could hear Mrs. Tweak choke back a sob, but Mr. Tweek simply repeated himself.

Kenny couldn't just stand around and watch this, but interfering with the ordeal wouldn't do anything either. He simply made his way around the crowd, continuing on his path of wandering aimlessly around town.

Tweek was dead, and as much as Kenny hated to admit it, he kind of envied Tweek. There was such a huge deal being made about his death, and he got to stay dead. He wouldn't wake up the next morning with a pounding headache and a detailed recognition of how it felt to overdose. He wouldn't have to deal with the reality that his friends had completely forgotten about his death. He had people all over town mourning him or being angry for him.

People cared about Tweek. No one cared about Kenny.

Kenny sighed, pulling his last pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and unwrapping it. He took the first cigarette out of the carton and stopped on the corner of the sidewalk to light it. As he took the first puff of the cigarette, he heard the crowd around him erupt with screams of fear, followed by the deafening sound of a gun firing.


	14. Chapter 14

  _Yesterday at 5:21 PM, a local coffee shop owner killed his wife and himself infront of a crowd of almost 100 people. Police got medical technicians on the scene as fast as possible, but to no avail. Immediately following the murder of his son Tweek, Richard Tweak took the life of his wife and himself as well. Police say that the only reason he would have done this is he planned it all along._

_Police had raided the coffee shop immediately following the murder-suicide and found a ridiculous amount of crystal Methamphetamine in storage containers in the back room. Also in the back room was a ratty matress and some clothing belonging to the deceased highschool student._

_The story is still unfolding, but rest assured we will keep you updated. If you've drank coffee from Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse, please see a doctor to see if you were drugged. Drug tests will be free to anyone at Hell's Pass Hospital in the following weeks, and treatment will be affordable if you may need it._

_This is South Park News at 9, and now to the weather._

 

* * *

 

All anyone was talking about anymore was Tweek's death. Craig had come and gone from the funeral, and he was still understandably depressed. Kenny had been spending more and more time out of the house, wandering the streets and trying to occupy his mind. Nothing could push the feeling out of his chest that this was cruel punishment, that Tweek dying and getting so much media coverage was some cruel deity's way of rubbing it in his face that no one remembered his deaths.

He passed Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse every day during his usual routine of wandering, watching as the scene continually changed. Within the first few days of the incident, the windows were caked with blood and there was tape reading do not cross all over the street and sidewalk. Automobile traffic was being redirected around the next block as police investigated.

Now that it'd been a little over a week since the incident, though, things had been cleaned up. The windows and doors of the coffee establishment were now boarded up, and the building was being condemned to be demolished. They were planning on putting in a chain coffee shop in it's place as soon as the site was deemed safe enough, logically thinking that no one working for a Starbucks or a Dunkin Donuts would spend their minimum wage pay on buying crystal meth to drug customers with. It'd be a huge waste of money.

Kenny had also heard that the meth dealers who had been working with the Tweaks lived in the shack behind his old house. When he'd heard of this, he rushed to his old home to see if everyone was okay. To his utter horror, the house was practically torn apart. No one lived in it anymore. There was a police officer there the day he went, and that was when Kenny found out that when the meth dealers were caught, they overpowered the police and barged into the main house of the property. His parents escaped with minor injuries, but...

Karen had been killed in the crossfire.

He didn't bring this up to Craig in the passing moments they spent together. He didn't bring it up to anyone. Usually, he would have confided in Kyle or Stan about something like this. Kyle was always good with words, and Stan was good with distractions. As he walked, he shoved his hands in his parka pockets, looking down at his feet.

He felt so alone. He felt so broken, so upset, so lost. Nothing had tried to kill him yet, and it'd been about a month. This was the longest he'd been allowed to live, of course everything would go wrong. That's just how his cards were always played. Either he was happy and lived a short life, or he was miserable and lived a long life.

South Park felt different ever since Tweek's death. Sure, the town was never normal, but it almost felt like people realized how abnormal it was. How fucked up was it that over half of the city's population drank at Tweek Bros. Coffeehouse almost daily and didn't know what they were doing to their own son?

Tweek always did seem excessively jittery, but Kenny just assumed that he had some wild case of ADHD or anxiety.

Kenny turned the corner of the neighborhood street, making his way to a familiar dirt road. He was going home, actually going to enter his house for the first time in weeks. As he walked, the bullet wound ached more than it had a week prior. He wasn't sure it was healing correctly, and he mentally began to question the nurse's ability to actually fix things, but it's not like it'd matter.

He approached the house, looking it up and down. It was in such a trashy condition when he'd lived in it, and back then he wasn't sure how it could possibly get worse. Looking at it now, with it's completely shattered windows and thin walls riddled with bullet holes, he decided that he'd never expected his family would be broken apart like this.

The front door was off it's hinges, thrown to the side of the small and dead front lawn. He slowly walked in, biting back the tears threatening to spill.

The house smelled like blood and residual marijuana, but the distant scent of Yankee Candles still permeated the air. He wandered through the living room, now stained with blood and other fluids. Plastic syringes crunched under his boots as he walked through his childhood home, looking at their ratty TV that was now shattered and their couch that was overturned.

He peeked in his room, and it was a wreck. It seemed like his parents had torn it apart when he was carried off in a stretcher, trying to figure out who the hell was in their house. Either that, or they were just seeing if he had anything valuable they could sell for drugs. They probably had assumed he was a squatter or something... Or, knowing them, that's at least how they rationalized shooting him.

His mom had seemed genuinely distressed that day, and ever since he'd been made aware of the fact he'd died previously in this timeline, he felt sick at the memory. His mom had recognized him.

With the memory of that day came the urge to go back into Karen's room. He knocked on the door as if Karen was still in there, still on her Laptop like the last day he saw her. He felt tears spill over as he knocked again, weakly calling out a soft "Karen, can I come in?"

He slowly opened the door, trying to stop the tears that had started as he looked around. The room was such a mess. Karen's laptop was missing, and her bed was torn apart. All of her belongings were either destroyed or missing, and the walls were smeared with blood. Looking back at the path he'd just walked, he saw the floors were covered in blood as well.

They had hurt her in her own room.

Kenny dropped to his knees in the middle of his little sister's room, and the tears he'd been trying so desparately to stop flowed freely. He hugged himself, hunching over and sobbing uncontrollably. He trembled like a leaf, mentally trying to remember his last words to his sister.

He remembered wanting to ask her if she was okay when she was panicking, but he didn't. He was so fucking stupid. She didn't remember him, but that didn't mean he couldn't care about her. He felt so miserable for not asking if she was okay.

As he calmed down, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes in an attempt to bring his senses back to at least some level of functionality, he remembered what he'd went there to do.

Silently, he shakily stood and wandered out of Karen's room, walking down the hallway to his parents room. He threw open drawer after drawer, trying to find the guns he knew they kept. He knew his dad had a gun, of course, but he knew there was more than one. Of course, because they'd been run out of the house by meth heads, then guns were all missing. Either the police took them, his parents took them, or the meth heads did.

Regardless, he felt hopeless.

He kicked his parent's old bed, screaming at the top of his lungs every swear word he could remember. He was sobbing again, kicking repeatedly. He was so overwhelmed with negative emotion. All he wanted to do was kill himself, to get this timeline to finally free him, but it seemed even that wasn't coming easy.

He kicked the bed one last time before turning his head to the ceiling. "Is this how you get your sick kicks?!" he screamed at seemingly no one. "Are you fucking proud?!"

No response was given. Not that Kenny had expected one. Deities were fickle, and they sure as hell wouldn't explain themselves to some poor kid from a small town in Colarado that they decided to fuck with.

He stayed in his parents room for only a few more moments before he turned and left, wandering back to Karen's room. He walked in slowly, looking around before finding a small necklace she'd always worn dangling off the doorknob to her closet. He felt the tears falling still, and quickly snatched the necklace, looking at it.

It was a simple chain with a small charm on it. The charm wasn't anything special, it was just a "K" plated in faux rose gold. He looked at this necklace for a few moments before shoving it in his pocket and quickly leaving the house.

On top of Tweek's death, his family was now destroyed. Bitterly, he realized that even his parents and sister had gotten at least a little bit of discussion on the news. Kenny wasn't jealous of them, though. He was too busy trying to forget that his little sister was dead.

He clutched the necklace in his pocket and began to speedwalk to one of the only places that wasn't ruined by this timeline thus far.

 

* * *

 

Crickets chirped as Kenny lie on the wooden floor of the treehouse. Most of the snow that had gotten into the fixture had melted, so lying down was no longer uncomfortable. He stared up at the shoddy roof of the structure, trying his best to look for stars through the openings. He barely noticed when the ice and grass below the treehouse crunched and rustled with movement, or when a familiar person climbed up into the treehouse.

He heard the click of a lighter behind him, but there were no words exchanged.

Kenny sat up, trying to fish his lighter out of his pocket. He didn't dare look over at Craig, lest he let him see how bloodshot and red his eyes were from sobbing. Craig wouldn't be able to say anything, though. Not unless he wanted Kenny to ridicule him for mourning over his own loss. After a few moments of digging, Kenny gave up trying to find his lighter, instead just staring over the railing of the treehouse. Gnats flew about, but not great in number. It was still far too cold for most bugs.

"You've been gone a lot," Craig said, his nasally voice barely audible. Kenny said nothing in response, simply tilting his head to look at the stars once more, this time while sitting up. This silence gave Craig time to continue. "You seem distant."

Kenny chuckled, giving a pitiful smile. "So what if I am?" he responded, voice hoarse and breaking every few syllables.

"I care about you, you fucker," Craig said, almost immediately.

"I thought I was just some kid you chainsmoked with," Kenny mumbled. There was silence, followed by the sound of movement. Movement coming toward him.

"Kenny, look, I know we've known eachother for only a few weeks, but..." Craig sighed, trailing off, seemingly lost in thought. Kenny simply remained staring at the stars, barely moving even as Craig spoke up again. "But I care about you. You're the closest thing I have to a close friend right now, ever since Tweek..."

Kenny's head turned immediately, and he placed his hand over Craig's. Craig looked at Kenny with confusion in his eyes, but Kenny sighed.

"Look. I'm sorry I've been so avoidant. I just... am dealing with my own problems right now," he mumbled, dancing around the fact that he had every intention of killing himself earlier. "I'm dealing with a lot."

"I understand," Craig mumbled. "Completely."

 _No you don't_ , Kenny thought. "I just don't want to bother you, especially since you're dealing with your own shit right now."

"Listen, I may be going through my own shit, but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of helping you," Craig responded. Kenny sighed, his fingers twitching over Craig's. "I can at least listen."

Kenny was silent. He didn't know what to say or do. He took a deep breath, his eyes suddenly stinging with the threat of tears.

"I want to stop feeling," Kenny whispered. Craig sighed, but out of the corner of his eye Kenny saw him nodding. The black haired boy cleared his throat, slipping his hand out from under Kenny's and standing.

"My parents have a liquor cabinet they rarely touch. Let's go back to my place and get absolutely shitfaced."


	15. Chapter 15

"I thought you said liquor," Kenny mumbled, staring at Craig from the boy's bed. Craig was walking into the room with armfulls of bottles of wine, two glasses pinched between his fingers. He shrugged, despite the huge load of fragile cargo he was carrying.

"It's alcohol. You can't really ask for much. Believe me, I'd rather drink _anything_ over wine, but if we want to get shitfaced then we have to work with what we have," Craig said simply. "Can you help me out here?"

Kenny jumped from his position on the bed, grabbing a few bottles of wine out of the boys arms and setting them on the floor. He took the two glasses out of his hands and set them on the bedside table. "Why do you have glasses?"

"So we can drink?" Craig responded, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Kenny rolled his eyes and quickly took the remaining bottles out of his friend's arms, observing the small collection of contraband on the floor before grabbing one at random.

"Do you have a wine opener?" the blond hummed, holding the rather wide bottle by its neck.

"Nightstand drawer," Craig nodded. Kenny threw the drawer open and dug around, finding the pretty cheap wine opener almost immediately. Without saying anything else, he opened the bottle of wine like a pro and began to drink directly from the bottle. After downing about a quarter of the liquid, he pulled the bottle from his lips and shuttered at the aftertaste.

"That's how you get shitfaced, Tucker. We aren't soccer moms."

Craig looked a bit speechless, but picked up a bottle of wine and followed in Kenny's example nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

"Dude, holy shit," Craig slurred. Empty wine bottles littered the room, and the last of the wine that Craig had sneaked into his room sat between the two boys on the sofa. "What if we watched Nanalan at 50% speed?"

"What the fuck is Nanalan?" Kenny laughed, voice higher pitched and tone happier than normal. His legs were draped over Craig's, and his arm hung off of the sofa. "Dude, I don't have the attention span for this shit, whatever it is."

Kenny reached over for the bottle, making a glorious attempt at trying to drink the last of the Pinot Grigio but ultimately spilling it all over the t-shirt he'd borrowed from Craig. He laughed hysterically at this, having to hold his stomach from how fucking funny it was. As he managed to stop for a moment to breathe, he heard Craig laughing too.

Either the alcohol was getting to him, or the sound of Craig's genuine laughter filled his stomach with butterflies.

He sat up off the couch to mindlessly pull his shirt off. In his drunkened state, he completely forgot that he had a bullet wound that was still healing and that his body looked like it'd been tenderized like a fine steak. His now bare torso was glistening with the dampness of the wine that had soaked through, and the dim light of the dying over-head bulb made his scars seem more fantasy-like, almost like they were the result of a hallucination.

That'd be a good cover up, but they weren't doing hallucinogenic substances.

"Dude, can you get more wine?" Kenny managed through lingering laughs. Craig shook his head, staring up at the ceiling.

"Too drunk. Don't wanna risk waking parents up," he said, voice slow and still slurred. "I think we've had more than enough to drink." As if to accent just how not sober he was, he hiccuped. Kenny giggled.

"Craig," he whined, throwing his leg off his friend as he did a full 180 on the couch, resting his head on the black haired boy's thigh. "Craig please!"

"You sound 12," Craig commented simply.

"I'm not 12, I'm drunk."

"You're 12 when you're drunk."

"Shuddup."

Kenny jokingly threw his fist up and tapped Craig's jaw with it, causing Craig to look down into Kenny's eyes and smile a bit. This smile only lasted a few moments, however, as Craig's eyes flicked over Kenny's chest. "Uh...."

"Hm?"

"Are you... okay?"

"I'm not okay, I'm Kenny."

"I'm not joking, Kenny," Craig mumbled, voice slurred but serious nonetheless. "You uh... You got a lot of scars."

"Skiing accident," Kenny mumbled, sitting up and turning to face Craig. "I'm _really_ bad at skiing."

"You're really bad at lying," Craig sighed, "And you're really drunk."

"You're drunk too," Kenny pouted, poking Craig's collarbone. "You could be seein' shit."

"Alcohol doesn't make you hallucinate, Kenny," Craig stated.

"Don't worry 'bout my scars right now, Tucker," Kenny slurred, a stupid grin on his face. He was slowly leaning closer and closer to Craig. "Bein' serious while drunk ain't fun."

"You're southern as fuck when drunk," the black haired boy blinked.

"Nah," Kenny chuckled. He was now inches away from Craig's face, but Craig didn't seem to care. He wasn't moving, at the least. The blond's breath mixed with the black haired boy's, a scent of Crest toothpaste and alcohol surrounding their general area. Up close, Craig had a few acne scars. Most wouldn't really care about those, but Kenny loved them. To his drunk mind, it gave Craig character. Without thinking, he leaned in and kissed one of the scars, directly under his friend's eye.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Craig asked, voice shaking from suddenly being flustered. Kenny smiled against Craig's cheek.

"You have scars too," he hummed, kissing the boy's scars over and over. Craig said nothing, simply allowing the blond to kiss him.

Eventually, Kenny kissed down to the boy's lips, smiling as he did so. Craig's lips were soft, as if he actually cared about his own self care. They were nice and almost soothing against Kenny's cracked and scarred lips. To the boy's surprise, Craig didn't pull away. He wasn't sure if it was the alcohol or because of actual desire, but the black haired teen actually pulled Kenny closer.

They remained like that for a while, just two sad, drunk boys kissing on a ratty sofa, until Kenny broke away to breathe. "Dude, you have an overbite."

"Why is that relevant?" he snipped.

"If we're gonna make out, I feel like you should be aware of that. I don't feel like having sore teeth from you shoving your teeth against mine."

"Kenny, shut the fuck up," Craig grumbled, gripping the blond by his hair and pulling him in for another kiss.


	16. Chapter 16

Sun shined through the shittily drawn blinds of Craig's bedroom. Due to the unfortunate angle of the light, the blond currently lying atop his black haired counterpart stirred from his sleep. He squinted against the light, trying to bury his face in his friend's bare chest to no avail. He was too boney, and the sun was too warm on his neck otherwise.

"Craig," he mumbled, attempting to shield his eyes from the light still. "Craig close the blinds."

Craig groaned, rolling over a bit in his sleep. This caused Kenny to almost fall off of him, but thanks to his impeccable reflexes, he remained on top of the boy. "You're closer. And on me."

"I'm hung over, Craig," Kenny whined, squeezing himself into the small space that was now available between Craig and the sofa. He snaked his arm around the black haired boy's waist, tracing circles on his hip bone that was clearly exposed due to his hastily put on boxers. Craig curled in on himself a bit in what Kenny assumed to be reflex. He made a mental note that his friend was ticklish.

"I am too," Craig whined, blindly groping around for anything to cover his head with.

"I guess we'll suffer together then," Kenny muttered, kissing one of the hickeys on Craig's neck. Craig shuttered at this simple touch.

He barely remembered it, but from all of the evidence available to him, he deduced that he had pretty amazing sex with Craig Tucker. If the hickeys and haphazardly put on clothing didn't give it away, the fact that he woke up on top of his roommate and the vague memories he had of kissing and blowjobs sure did. It felt nice, waking up next to a cute boy again. It almost made him forget he was horribly depressed and suicidal.

"Kenny," Craig groaned, moving his arms above his head as best as he could to stretch. Kenny simply continued tracing shapes on his hip bone, his lips pursed against the back of his neck. "Kenny, what are you doing?"

"Painting the Mona Lisa," Kenny sarcastically replied. He hummed against Craig's neck, a smile gently forming on his lips. Craig took a minute before shooting up, thorougly jarring Kenny. The blond's heart raced with confusion and sudden anxiety as Craig gripped his black locks inbetween thin fingers.

"Fuck. What did we _do_ last night?" he asked quickly, turning to face Kenny with wide eyes. Apparently, his question had been answered from the mere sight he took in when facing his blond friend, because he was on his feet and blushing deeply before Kenny could even take a breath to reply. "Wh..."

"I'm pretty sure we had sex," Kenny said simply. "Judging from the fact the residual taste of salt in my mouth probably didn't come from wine, I mean."

"We... Oh _god_ ," Craig groaned, turning his back to Kenny and staring at the ceiling. Kenny moved to prop himself up on his elbow, tilting his head in confusion.

"Are you regretting it? We can totally forget it happened," Kenny offered simply. He wasn't a stranger to one night stands. He'd had plenty, of course. It kind of came with the territory of being Kenny McCormick. It gets lonely at night, and sometimes you just need some nice head, or some nice bondage. Whatever the night gives.

"Kenny, I..." Craig trailed off again. He began somewhat staggering around the room, seeming like he was trying to pace with two sprained ankles. "Can... Can I have a moment?"

"Yeah, of course. Can I shower?" Kenny nodded slowly.

"Sure," Craig said, voice soft. "You know where everything is."

Without any more words exchanged, Kenny did the same two sprained ankle walk to the bathroom and hopped in the shower.

 

* * *

 

The shower was steamy, and the bathroom mirror had fogged up accordingly. Kenny prayed a silent thank you to whatever deity cared about him at the very moment as he quickly dressed himself in a pair of sweatpants and another old band t-shirt he'd stolen from Craig. He didn't want to take any chance on seeing himself in the mirror - looking at his scars too long would only kill his mood, and with how Craig had been acting prior to his shower, it was already steadily beginning to decline. He exited the bathroom, heart pounding a bit too heavily in his chest as he did so.

He saw Craig curled on his bed facing the wall, his blanket loosely thrown over him. Quietly, Kenny dropped his clothes in the ever-growing pile of dirty laundry before slowly making his way toward the bed. "Craig?"

Craig sniffled. "We need to talk," he mumbled. It was so soft that, had he not been listening more than closely, Kenny would have barely been able to hear it. "Come over here."

Kenny continued his small journey to his roommate's bed, sitting on the foot of it carefully. "What's up?"

"I... about last night-"

"I get it. You were drunk and you didn't mean for it to happen. I've heard it before, it's not that big a deal," Kenny interrupted, sighing.

"No, it's not that..." Craig sighed. He grunted as he sat up, holding his head from what Kenny knew was an oncoming headache. "Kenny, I'm just not ready for anything like... _that_. With what just recently happened with Tweek, I-"

"Again, I've heard this before," Kenny interrupted again. He glanced at Craig and saw the frustrated look growing on his face. "We can forget it. Last night doesn't count, okay? We were drunk."

"I feel like I used you, Kenny."

Kenny fell silent. Used him? If Craig had been using him, it wasn't like he'd done anything different. They both got drunk to ignore their issues, so maybe they both had the same conclusion that sex was a good way to completely distract themselves. He was about to speak up, to voice this thought, but Craig continued.

"I don't think I did it on purpose, but I've been so fucked up recently over... _him_ , that I might have just used you to forget about everything. I don't want you to think anything can come of last night. Not right now, anyway. You're... a great guy, Kenny, you really are, but..."

Kenny stood, a bit too abruptly. He felt a headrush coming on and involuntarily threw his hands to his head, gripping onto his blond hair just a bit too hard. "I don't expect a relationship, Craig. I didn't expect anything. Were you not listening?"

Craig fell silent. Kenny took this as a cue to continue.

"You arent the only one who's been fucked up lately, okay? I'm going to be honest with you, I don't think you understand how easy your issues are compared to mine."

As soon as he said that, he wished he hadn't. He hesitantly made eye contact with Craig, and for the brief moment their gazes locked, he saw tears forming in already red, bloodshot eyes.

"Easy? You think mourning a death is easy? I _loved_ Tweek, okay?" Craig began to shout, voice cracking as he spoke of his ex boyfriend in the past tense. "Do you think it's easy knowing that someone I loved is dead? I can never see him again, Kenny! How the _fuck_ is that easy?!"

"Oh, I _wish_ I could just have someone I loved die. That'd be such a walk in the park!" Kenny screamed, throwing his arms out exasperatedly. "And I'll have you know, my little sister was murdered in the wake of Tweek's death! But do you care? No!"

"Kenny, I didn't-"

"You don't know the half of it! You don't know what I go through!" Kenny continued, voice breaking as he began to cry. "I wish I only had to deal with people I knew dying. I wish they died more, actually! Maybe it'd make it easier, because I wouldn't live every single day knowing that no one will ever care about my death the way they care about everyone else's. Maybe so much death would make them feel something! Maybe they'd end up having the same fucking curse I do!"

The room fell silent, save for Kenny's sudden sobbing and Craig's sniffling. The black haired boy's mouth hung open as the blond dropped to his knees, body shaking with sobs. He cleared his throat, sniffling once more. "So you're telling me-"

"Death fucking sucks, okay?" Kenny interrupted, barely understandable through his heavy breathing and sobs. "I know I sound like a fucking lunatic, but I shot myself a month ago. Does anyone care? Nope! They just think I'm impersonating the dead child from years ago! Guess what, Tucker! That dead child they think I'm impersonating is _me_!"

Kenny made eye contact with Craig again. He could only see a mixture of confusion and utter despair in his eyes. His heart pounded in his chest as he sobbed, trying briefly to catch his breath before giving into the sobs once more. He pounded the floor of Craig's bedroom, screaming obscenities on beat with the thudding noises his fist caused. He heard the bed above him creak, but before Craig could move close enough to him, he stumbled to his feet.

His vision pulsed in time with his heartbeat, which he could now feel in his throbbing headache. He haphazardly walked over to the makeshift table infront of Craig's couch, snatching up his cigarettes and lighter.

"Kenny, are you okay? Nothing you're saying is making sense. People don't just die and come back. Do you do drugs or something?" Craig choked out, his tears sounding like they were starting again. Kenny couldn't know for sure, though. His back was to Craig.

"I wish it was just bad drug trips I was remembering, Craig," he laughed bitterly, voice raw and still shaking with sobs. "I fucking wish."

The room was silent again, save for the mixed sound of the two boys' cries. After this silence lingered for an uncomfortable amount of time, Kenny gripped his pack of cigarettes all too tightly. The loud crinkle of plastic mixed with the soft collapsing of cardboard as he took a shuttering breath.

"Remember when you said Tweek didn't smoke? You said he didn't want to get cancer, but you thought dying on your own terms was worth it."

"Kenny, what are you-"

"I've tried. So many times. I told you I shot myself, but that's not even the beginning."

"Let me finish-"

"I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm sorry for unloading on you. I'm sorry for making it seem like Tweek's death doesn't matter. I hope he rests in peace. God knows he fucking deserves it."

Kenny made his way to the window. He heard Craig's stance shift behind him, but he didn't care. His heart was pounding, his head throbbing more and more with each passing minute.

"I'll say hi to him for you, okay?"

He threw the window open, climbing out with no care for his life this time. As his feet collided with the rough terrain of Craig's backyard, he heard the boy slam his hands on the wooden window frame.

"Don't you fucking _dare_!" Craig screamed through his tears. Kenny had begun to walk, but stopped when he heard the black haired boy. He turned, smiling bitterly at him through his slowly stopping tears.

"You won't even remember. It'll all be okay in a few hours. I'm making things better. You'll see."

"No you're not!" Craig sobbed. Kenny chuckled.

"Just watch. You're going to forget. You'll be able to mourn about Tweek without me fucking everything up along the way. I'm doing you a favor," he laughed, voice strained and happiness forced. Every word he was saying felt like he was spitting out blood. "I left the money I owed you under the Playstation remote."

With that, Kenny turned on his heel and walked out of Craig's backyard, despite his desparate pleas from the window. After a minute or two of walking, Kenny couldn't even hear him anymore.

He was just left with the empty streets of the South Park suburbs, the overcast sky threatening to downpour at any moment, and the pocket knife he'd stolen from Craig's bedside drawer while searching for the wine opener the night prior.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: this chapter has graphic description of self harm

Crime shows don't ever depict how bad a house smells after murders have taken place. They especially don't depict how bad it is if it's full of blood, drugs, alcohol, other undefinied bodily fluids, and probably body parts. The house was already in such disrepair, the murder scene just made it pitiful.

Kenny sat on his old bed, legs crossed like he was in kindergarten and listening to his teacher read. He was still wearing the band t-shirt from Craig's house, which conveniently gave more than enough access to his forearms to slice them. He smiled, a rush of adrenaline filling his body as he watched the red liquid run in rivulets down his arm. The knife glid so easily, and it only hurt a little bit.

A "little bit" being relative to the various amounts of borderline torture he'd experienced over the years, of course.

Before he knew it, the sweatpants he was wearing were stained crimson, and it only added on to the putrid smell of the house.

He was crying. He had been crying since he was at Craig's house. It'd be weird if he didn't cry during a suicide, honestly. He always cried, because he always made it slow and painful. Pain didn't bother him for the most part, but it was such a mortal human thing to do to cry. His mind was immortal, but his body still knew what pain felt like in the context of mortality. He ran the tip of the blade across the horizontal cuts on his arms, humming to himself, letting his tears fall on the open wounds. They burned, adding another layer to the levels of self harm he was on.

Gently, he poised the tip of the blade where his wrist met his palm. He dug the blade into the flesh and pulled down, like the knife was a lever and his arm was the case in which it stood. He screamed out in pain, immediately doubling over and pressing against his arm. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering his shirt and face and getting in his hair.

He sobbed, hyperventilating as a burning sensation overtook his arm. He glanced down and saw the innards of his forearm; bones, muscles, tendons... all completely visible amidst the pool of blood gushing from his limb. It was morbidly fascinating, and he stared at it in awe as it spurted.

Death sucked, but seeing blood made him feel more alive than anything else did.

As he watched his very life leave his body, he faintly heard noises outside of his room. They sounded like they were coming from the living room. Kenny mentally dismissed the noises as some urban explorers, trying to make a quick buck off of Youtube ad revenue with the abandoned scene of a drug-enduced murder.

They'd be getting a pathetic kid's suicide alongside that little video, too. What a treat, right?

"Kenny, what the fuck?!" he heard the raspy voice of a familiar teen. He glanced up, and through half lidded eyes he saw the trembling figure of the boy whos life he'd just ruined the night prior.

"Hey, Craig, what's up?" Kenny laughed, pulling the knife out of his arm and tossing it off to a corner of his disheveled room. Craig rushed forward, pulling his shirt off quickly and pressing it on Kenny's open arm.

"You were serious," he breathed. He didn't seem like he was actually talking to Kenny, more like he was commenting to himself. Like he didn't believe Kenny was actually going to attempt suicide immediately upon leaving his house.

"'M a lot of things, Tucker," Kenny drawled, focus beginning to fly out the window, "But 'm not a liar."

"You asshole! You can't do this! I need you!" Craig screamed, applying more pressure to no avail. His grey shirt was a soggy deep red, and his hands were becoming stained with the liquid already. Kenny attempted to chuckle, but only wheezed.

"It'll all be good soon," he hummed, practically in a whisper. "You'll forget."

"How the fuck am I supposed to forget this?!" Craig choked, pulling a bloodied hand away from the fruitless effort he was making to stop Kenny's bleeding to wipe at his eyes. Kenny glanced up at Craig through vision that was progressively fading, giving another wheeze of a chuckle.

"Ya got somethin' on your f...." he trailed off, eyes beginning to glaze over. Craig screamed, shaking his head violently, letting go of the sopping wet t-shirt that had been covering Kenny's arm to grip at the boy's shoulders.

"No! No! Fuck you! Come back, right now! You can't be dead, Kenny! You can't!"

His voice sounded like it was going to cut out at any moment. His throat burned, his eyes ached, his head was pounding.

Craig held the now limp and lifeless body of Kenny McCormick in his arms as he bawled.

 

* * *

 

It was hot. Very hot. Kenny glanced down at his arm and saw that his arm he'd just torn open was now closed again. All that remained of his attempt was a deep scar, indenting his arm as if he were a torn stuffed animal that got repaired by someone less than talented at sewing. He glanced around, wiping the already forming beads of sweat off his forehead as he took in his surroundings.

This death was one of those deaths where he actually got to visit the afterlife, huh?

He wandered along the cracked stone path he was all too familiar with, trying to ignore the sounds of damned souls screaming in agony all around him. Flames licked at his seemingly invincible flesh, leaving only the sensation of burning without the actual physical effects.

Christians always said Hell was pretty much the eternal feeling of death, didn't they? If that's so, then the actual location of hell could very well be a vacation. He'd take rolling around on the hot coals of the underworld over reliving the same repetitive deaths over and over any day.

His bare feet ached as he continued along the path he knew so well. This was one of the few cleared paths in the entire fire kingdom. Of course, this was because this path lead to the single most important part of the entire realm: Satan's palace.

It was a long distance away, but what did Kenny have to lose? He laughed bitterly to himself as he trudged along, ignoring how his feet felt as if they would turn into matches and ignite him entirely on fire with every step he took.

Before he could actually make it to the crimson gate, though, he felt the ground begin to vibrate. He sighed, stopping dead in his tracks. Of course some spectacle had to happen this time. It was just his luck,wasn't it? He had to deal with one of his worst incarnations for more than a month just for the ruler of Hell to come out and add the icing on the metaphorical cake.

"Well, well, well. What have we here?" a deep voice rumbled from behind the blond. The boy sighed, turning on his heels to stare at the lobster of a deity.

"What is it this time? Do I have to spend time in the naughty bin or something?" Kenny asked impatiently. He put his hand on his hip for added effect, though this wasn't an action he actually put thought into. He was just so incredibly done with Satan's shit that his arm involuntarily decided to put some sass into his remark. Satan gave a forced laugh at this.

"Not today, sorry about that. It's under renovations and probably won't be done until the next time you decide to kill yourself," the large creature said completely nonchalantly. Kenny rolled his eyes.

"Whatever. Can we just get my reincarnation over with?" the boy huffed, jutting his hip out now for emphasis. "I've had a really fucking bad month and I don't feel like dealing with you."

"Come on, Kenny. You know it isn't that easy. You've been here enough times, haven't you?" Satan cooed, taking a step toward the blond.

"Cut the shit. Don't you have some terrorist to bang?"

"You _do_ realize I could have you tortured right here and now, correct?" Satan deadpanned. Kenny simply nodded in response, causing the ruler of Hell to sigh. He took a moment to think before clearing his throat. "It isn't actually me who has something to say to you this time, surprisingly."

"Oh?" Kenny feigned interest, raising an eyebrow. "Who the fuck else could have business with me in this literal hellhole?"

"Hey, listen, It's not my fault you woke up here. I'll have you know that I had the one reclusive deity from Heaven tell me you've been sending one too many prayers their way. They thought I'd finally scared you back into religion."

Kenny gave a genuine laugh of disbelief. "Fuck no, I'm never getting back into that trap. Organized religion is bullshit. What good will it do for me if I can't die?"

Satan didn't answer. Kenny didn't expect him to. Instead, he simply pushed passed the boy and walked ahead on the path.

"You know where you need to go. You don't need the tour. Just meet him at the Rift."

Kenny rolled his eyes, following Satan briefly before making a left for the rift where you'd normally take a right for the Beelzebub Mannor.

Some heavenly dude had business with him? He'd believe that when he saw it. God wasn't very fond of him, and Jesus was back in South Park.

He continued walking his lonely trek to the Rift, trying to focus on the heat of the landscape around him to distract himself from the intrusive thoughts that seemed to follow him passed the barrier of death.


	18. Chapter 18

The Rift was a bottomless chasm that split the light and dark realms of the afterlife. Only those with deity status could even dream of controlling it - this is what kept residents of Heaven and residents of Hell from escaping their respective eterneties.

Of course, Kenny never had to worry about the Rift. He was never dead long enough to see a reason to escape Heaven or Hell. The only times he ever had to visit the Rift was when he was needed by the opposite realm. This was rare, of course. No deity really _wanted_ Kenny. It really only happened when situations like this arose - he was thrown into one realm but a deity from the opposite realm needed to speak to him.

He came to the end of the path of hot coals, and finally his feet were able to rest. The ground near the Rift was pretty okay - it was essentially super smooth concrete. He sighed, looking across the ravine in the ground, barely able to make out the pearly white gates across the void. "Am I going to be reprimanded for killing myself?" he called, his voice echoing across the emptiness. "If I am, I need to prepare myself to pretend I care."

Silence followed. Briefly, he thought about the possibility that Satan had tricked him into walking all the way to the Rift. It wouldn't have been the first time. You can only have an immortal child enter your kingdom so many times before you start playing tricks on him, right? He sighed, kicking a stray pebble over the edge of the Rift.

"Or are you gonna tell me I can finally stay dead? If that's the case, consider me a Christian again."

Thunder clapped, and Kenny rolled his eyes. Even in the afterlife, the heavenly deities had to make a show of their Biblical talents. No one visibily came into view, but a deep voice reverberated across the Rift. "Kenneth, you've died again."

"Wow, really? I couldn't tell," Kenny laughed. "Listen, G, we're on friendly terms with how many times we've talked. You can call me Kenny, you know."

The deity ignored him. "What was the purpose of killing yourself, Kenneth? You know you're just going to come back. Why did you do it?"

"Same reason as I always do," the blond responded. "To make a point."

"Who were you making a point to?"

"Mostly Craig, but-"

"What did he do to deserve you dying?"

Kenny paused for a moment. He hadn't actually thought that over. What _had_ Craig done to warrant him killing himself? The only thing that really came to mind was the fact he seemed to regret having sex with him, but he wasn't skeevy enough to kill himself just because someone rejected him. Finally, he sighed. "I don't know. Listen, why do you care? Last I checked, you weren't too fond of me."

"I may not have the best feelings toward you, but Craig hasn't entirely denounced me," the deity responded simply. "Killing yourself did nothing to prove anything to him. All you did is hurt him, Kenneth."

Kenny was silent. The deity continued. "I know you aren't fond of me or my teachings, but you have to realize that you were put where you were put for a reason. You can't just kill yourself when you're done. That's selfish, Kenneth. You were needed there."

"Yeah, sure. I was needed there. He said he used me, you realize. Or does your omnipotence check itself at the door of gay kids?" Kenny shouted, tears forming in his eyes. "Your teachings are bullshit and your followers are even more bullshit. If I was needed there, why was everything going wrong?!"

"Trials to test your willpower," the voice responded without missing a beat.

"Like hell they were. You have no power over anything. Satan has more power than you!" Kenny screamed. By this point, tears had started to overflow, and before he knew it he was on his knees and crying. "I don't care how much you do, I can never trust in a deity who would do this shit just to make a point."

"This isn't to get you to believe in me. This is just what I do."

"Sure. Yeah. I'll believe that when I can actually stay dead," Kenny said simply, voice suddenly devoid of any emotion. He stared down at the grey concrete, hands pressed against it to keep himself from falling on his face. He was trembling, and his tears were hitting the ground in abstract patterns.

Meetings like this never went well, but this was going worse than usual.

"You can," the voice said simply. Kenny took a moment to process before choking out another sob and shooting his head up to look into the sky.

"Fuck you!" he choked out, voice raspy with how harshly he spoke. "No I can't! You _know_  I'm cursed. You _know_ I can't die. Don't get my hopes up like this you bastard!"

"It isn't your time yet, Kenneth. You must finish what you were put on earth to do, and then you will finally be able to rest for eternity," the deity spoke. It sounded as if he was reading from a script, but Kenny couldn't find himself any energy to actually give a shit.

"What the fuck is my purpose? You keep going on about a purpose, but I don't see anything there for me. What can I even do?" he sobbed. Speaking was getting hard. His cheeks were soggy with tears and his body felt lethargic from how much he'd been shaking and sobbing. His chest was hurting - was this what hell would feel like when he finally died? He briefly thought back to all of those people he saw burning in the lakes of fire throughout the years he'd visited. He knew he was going to end up like them, but he didn't want to feel the pain of it. Not yet, anyway.

"You know more than anyone what it's like to be lost, to be hopeless, to be at your breaking point. Use that knowledge to your benefit. To the benefit of others," the voice began to fade out, and as Kenny noticed how distant the deity was becoming, the edges of his vision were going black.

"Fuck you! Don't do this to me!" he shouted, voice giving out and turning into nothing but a whisper before he could finish his demand. It was too late, though. The voice was gone and his vision was going fuzzy.

Before he lost consciousness, he felt his body fully give out. His last memory was that of smooth concrete hitting his face.


	19. Chapter 19

The goddamn beeping was back. He attempted to open his eyes, but the pounding headache he was experiencing made it more than unwanted. The white walls of the hospital room reflected the unnecessarily bright fluorescents above him. He went to move his left arm to cover his eyes, but couldn't. He kept trying, and with every failed attempt he both felt his heart speed up and heard the rapidly raising beeping of the heart monitor.

Almost without thinking, his right hand grabbed the TV remote and he repeatedly pressed the red button that would call for a nurse. As he did this, he felt his breathing quicken. He stared up at the ceiling, trying to distract his thoughts to no avail. Why couldn't he move his arm?

Two nurses rushed in, the door slamming against the wall so hard that it sounded like it possibly broke something. Kenny didn't know if anything broke, though, because he was too busy staring up at the ceiling. He shut his eyes tightly as he began to cry, unable to find the words in him to speak.

"He's panicking," one of the nurses said quickly. "Push more Valium."

As soon as the nurse rushed to his side, he felt a coolness spread through his arm. After a minute or so, he'd calmed down just enough to speak. This was convenient, seeing as the nurse who'd given him the Valium decided it'd be a great time to ask why he'd pushed the button so many times. He opened his eyes again, looking up at the nurse. "I can't move my arm! I can't feel it! I can't-"

"We had to remove your arm, Kenny," the nurse who was still standing in the doorway interrupted. "Your friend called us just in time, or else the infection would have spread further."

"Infection?" Kenny breathed. What kind of infection could he have gotten? All he did was cut his arm up.

"Your tissue was dying. You bled a lot, you know," the nurse said. It sounded like she was trying to be sympathetic, but to Kenny it came across more upset. She sounded like she was a parent who found out her kid had drawn on the wall with a Sharpie or something. "Your friend said you were trying to kill yourself. Is that the case?"

He was quiet. The nurse next to him looked over at the nurse in the doorway, who was writing something down on a notepad she'd pulled from seemingly nowhere. Kenny could only assume she had it in her pocket or something, because he hadn't seen either nurse walk in with notepads in their hands.

"You'll be admitted to the psychiatric side of the hospital later this evening. We just need to evaluate your mental state," the nurse beside him said simply. Kenny said nothing. He began to just stare off a bit. Despite the fact that the nurse was still speaking to him, he couldn't hear her. He didn't want to hear her. He slowly turned to glance at his left arm, pulling the blanket down from being almost up to his neck.

Gone.

It was literally gone, all the way up to his shoulder. His heart sped up again, and he pounded the bed with his clenched fist. One of the nurses shouted, and he felt a major pain in his arm. Almost as if he'd ripped the IV out.

He didn't care though. Why the fuck should he? God had literally brought him back to life in the timeline where he'd thought he'd lost everything, only now he'd lost even _more_.

As the nurses scrambled to re-insert the IV, he finally let go of his remaining dignity and sobbed like a goddamn baby.

 

* * *

 

The only good part about the psych ward was the free time he got, which was very little. In the hour or so of unscheduled relaxation he got per day, he found himself in the shared recreation room, watching whatever movie the hospital staff decided would be fitting for mentally disturbed teenagers. The choice of movie that day was Elf. Despite the fact they were well out of the Christmas season, they thought it was a good and funny movie.

He sighed, curling into the corner of the unnervingly clean sofa in front of the TV. He guessed they were right, but after seeing the movie so many times the jokes kinda get old.

No one really talked to him in the hospital, either. No one really talked to anyone, though, so he didn't take it personally. South Park was a small town, and the population of mentally disturbed or suicidal teenagers was even smaller. The ward consisted of maybe one dozen teenagers and a handfull of staff, and it had to be the least eventful place he'd ever been to.

And he'd been to Heaven, where no one can sin and everything is centric around one guy, so that was saying something.

His eyes were trained on the screen as he watched Will Ferrell buy his fictional father a lingere set for Christmas, which earned a harsh breath through his nose that could be construed as laughter. He hardly noticed the nurse walk up to him, and it took her a few tries to actually get his full attention.

"What do you want?" he asked quickly, looking up at her with disinterest. She smiled despite his negative attitude toward her, though.

"You have a visitor!"

"I don't have friends," he mumbled, turning his attention back to the movie.

"Oh, but apparently you do! They're in the courtyard, if you'd like to see them," the nurse said, the happiness in her voice as genuine as the cheese in a Kraft American cheese slice.

"Not interested," he said quickly.

"Let me rephrase that. You're expected in the courtyard, and if you don't want to get up and see your visitor, that won't look very good to your psychiatrists," she spoke softly, leaning down to Kenny's level. He looked at her, the beginning stages of anger in his eyes.

"You're fuckin serious?" he responded. The nurse nodded. He rolled his eyes and, with an exasperated sigh, stood from the couch. "Whatever. Where's the courtyard?"

"Right this way!" the nurse chirped, turning on her heel and walking. Kenny followed her out of the recreation room and down a small hallway. She stopped at a a door with a small, shatterproof glass window in it and turned the handle, motioning to the small, walled-in courtyard beyond the partially opened exit. Kenny wordlessly complied, walking passed her and out the door.

He looked around, scanning for whoever his visitor was. It didn't take long for his eyes to fall on Craig, his blue coat and black hair a stark contrast against the greens and browns of the surroundings. He was sitting at a picnic table, drumming his slender fingers agaisnt the tabletop and resting his chin in his other hand, staring off at one of the bushes that surrounded the perimeter of the courtyard. Kenny cautiously stepped forward, his socked feet no match against some of the more pokey bits of foliage on the ground.

"Why're you here?" Kenny asked, not bothering to sit down just yet. He went to cross his arms, but sighed at himself when he remembered he was now missing an arm. On the bright side, it was less scars to explain, right? Craig looked up, dark brown eyes meeting Kenny's blue ones.

"I wanted to apologize," he said slowly. Kenny noticed Craig trying not to look at the sudden lack of arm, but the fact that he'd noticed meant that he was failing. "I... What I did was wrong. And it pushed you over the edge, and-"

"You didn't do anything. I told you what was wrong, and you just happened to be in the wrong places at the wrong times," Kenny mumbled, running his hand through his hair. There was silence between the two, and it took the blond a few moments, but he finally sat across from his friend.

"I've been thinking," Craig said, voice softer than usual. He was now looking down at the table, his fingers still drumming against the varnished wood. "You... you said you've died before, right?"

"Yeah," Kenny responded. "Why?"

"If you've died before, that means you just come back, right? So why would you do... that?" he asked softly. "Why would you try to die again if it wouldn't work?"

Kenny was quiet. Craig wasn't ever like this. He was emotionally raw, and the blond could tell that his guard was down. He'd never seen him act this way. Sure, he was pretty close to this level of distress and sadness when Tweek died, but he seemed so much more expressive. More hurt. More emotionally raw.

"I don't know if I can explain," Kenny finally spoke after a few moments, his voice soft. "I don't know how-"

"Just talk," the black haired boy suggested. "Talk to me like you did when you broke down in my bedroom. It doesn't have to make sense, I just need to get some sort of idea. Some sort of closure."

Kenny took a moment to gather himself, taking a shakey breath and gripping his sweatpants with his hand beneath the table. "Okay," he said slowly, biting his lip as he did so. He glanced down at the table, tracing the patterns of the wood grain with his eyes. "I... when I die, I come back. But usually, no one remembers I died, you know? Everything is always the same, it's just that everyone's collective memory of my death has been erased. The only explanation I could come to over the years is that I'm reincarnated into new timelines."

"Timelines?" Craig asked.

"Mhm. Like... there's that theory that says that multiple universes exist, and you make new ones by doing simple tasks, right? Like choosing to eat cereal instead of toast or whatever the fuck in the morning. Except in my case it's dying or not dying."

"So... what I'm getting is that you get put into a new life every time you die?" Craig asked. He sounded skeptical, but that didn't exactly bother the blond. It felt nice to get all of this off his chest. He nodded as he took a deep breath.

"Right! Yeah, like... it's almost as if the world decided it wasn't ready for me to die, so it just adjusts everything to put me into the universe where I didn't die. It's... weird."

"I bet."

Kenny gripped his pants tighter as he continued. "I... killed myself recently to escape. I didn't want to hurt you. You're already hurting so bad, and I didn't want to contribute. I figured that because everyone forgets events leading up to my death along with my actual death, that I could fix everything. I could help you. I could..." he trailed off, tears forming in his eyes. He pulled his hand from his leg and put it on top of the table, using it as support as he attempted to stand. He couldn't keep talking about this. It felt okay to talk about until just then, until he realized what he was doing and who he was talking to. "I need to go, I-"

Craig slid his hand over and put it on top of Kenny's, and now Kenny could tell that Craig was shaking. "You... you goddamn idiot," he said shakily. Kenny didn't dare make any eye contact with Craig, opting to look around the garden to see anything but his friend. "That has to be the worst fucking reason I've ever heard for killing yourself. You barely know me."

"That's not true," Kenny mumbled. "At all."

Craig's fingers twitched, and Kenny almost thought he was going to remove his hand entirely, but he didn't. 

"I've known you for years. Ever since kindergarten. You just don't remember me because I..." he bit his lip, tears spilling over finally. "I died in this timeline already. In fourth grade. You and I weren't really _friends_ back then, but we kind of knew eachother. We were in Mr. Garrison's class and-"

Craig gripped Kenny's hand, and this made the blond turn and face him. "You killed yourself back then, too. We didn't forget, Kenny."

"Wh-"

"I talked to Eric, and to Kyle, and-"

"You're fucking kidding. You can't remember. You're just saying this. You-"

"It was when you were playing superhero. You told them the same thing. That you can't die. And you shot yourself, and-"

Kenny pulled his hand from under Craig's to reach up and touch one of the more faded scars on his right temple. Tears continued to fall, and he began to audibly start to cry.

"You-" Kenny began to speak, but a noise from behind him nearly caused him to jump out of his own skin. The door he'd walked through was open, and the same nurse was standing just outside of the threshold.

"Craig, visitation hours are almost over. You can see Kenny again tomorrow, but I'll be back in a few minutes to escort you out of the courtyard," she spoke simply, smiling at the two before walking back into the door. Despite her closing it, Kenny knew she was still standing there. Her sillhouette was vaguely discernable through the glass window.

Kenny turned to face Craig, tears still streaming down his cheeks. "You remember? They remember?"

"We all at least somewhat remember, Kenny," his friend responded simply. He stood and walked around the table to stand in front of the blond boy. "And we promise we won't forget."

Kenny felt his legs give out below him as he started sobbing harder. He wasn't sad anymore. He wasn't upset. He was overwhelmed with emotion now.

Craig remembered. Eric remembered. Kyle and Stan and Butters... they all remembered.

For once, his death didn't erase memories, it revived them.

Craig caught Kenny as he'd begun to fall, and he'd eased him to the grass. The nurse came back out and escorted Craig to wherever visitors came and went from, and came back and helped Kenny back inside and into the rec room. She helped him get comfortable on the couch again, not asking why he was sobbing his eyes out like she normally did. This was odd, but Kenny didn't care.

They _remembered_ now. They fucking _remembered_.


	20. Chapter 20

Hospital food was shitty. Apparently, this rung true for psychiatric wards as well. You'd think the last place you'd want to serve bad food is a ward full of suicidal kids just looking for reasons to die, but clearly the hospital didn't think it through. That, or they didn't entirely care. Hell's Pass wasnt exactly known for their good customer service. Kenny couldn't count the number of times they'd single-handedly assisted in his death in some way if he used all his fingers and toes. Honestly, he was amazed they'd managed to save him not once but twice this time.

Then again, it was kind of God's fault he was back this second time, so he shouldn't credit that to Hell's Pass too much...

He bit into the raw broccoli piece he'd been holding in his hand. No, Hell's Pass didn't serve it. Craig had brought it to him. The staff at the hospital had been acting like they didn't see Kenny eating unauthorized food, but he knew they did. He ate it during sessions, ate it in the recreation room... hell, he even ate it when his psychiatrist analyzed him the first time. Their leniency was both welcome and worrying, but more than anything he couldn't wait to get out of there. Even if the leniency was there, he still was more or less a prisoner.

Bitterly, he'd make comments to all the nurses and psychiatrists about how he wished he could go back to school, because that'd be better than being stuck in therapy all day. They dismissed him, of course. Briefly, he wondered if they'd checked his records, but he remembered Mr. Mackey telling him that he was basically recordless.

At least he hadn't been forgotten in the grand scheme of things. Craig said he remembered him, and that his friends were slowly starting to remember him as well.

He bit into the broccoli again, finishing off the stalk he'd been chewing on. Just as he went to break another piece off of the entire head of broccoli he'd been stashing in his bag (which had been supplied by the hospital), a nurse walked into Kenny's room. "Your papers have finished processing, and you have someone waiting to pick you up."

"Oh shit, really?" he practically beamed, smiling for one of the first times in a long time. Of course, it was all staged. He wanted the staff to think he wasn't incredibly suicidal, and feigning happiness was the best way. They didn't care if you were actually better or not, all they cared was that they weren't liable for not doing their job. He'd learned that the first time he'd been admitted to the psychiatric ward all those years ago. Remembering the incident threatened to start a panic attack, but he was determined to suppress it. At least, he wanted to suppress it until he was no longer a patient.

"Who's here? Did you get a name?" he asked, casually biting off the flowering tops of the broccoli.

"Craig Tucker," the nurse responded quickly, glancing at her clipboard for confirmation. "Let me lead you to him-"

"Nah, I got it," Kenny waved her off, finishing the piece of broccoli in record time and shoving the head of broccoli beneath his one spare outfit that sat in the bag. "I know my way around by now."

"It's hospital policy that staff escort discharged patients out-"

"Yeah, and it's hospital policy to not allow outside food or drink, but you let that rule slide," he hummed.

"That's a very lenient rule, Mr. McCormick," she said slowly. "We are at liberty to bend that rule if we so choose."

"Really?" he hummed. He stepped a bit closer to the nurse, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he did so. "I know you let Bebe and Token go and fuck in an empty room a few times. I could always tattle to the higher-ups."

"Like they'd believe you. You're crazy. _Literally_ ," she scowled.

"And you're not very good at lying," he taunted, a coy smirk tugging at his lips. The nurse huffed, but stepped out of the doorway without another word. Kenny proudly took this as his leave and walked through the familiar path he'd followed many times in the few weeks he'd stayed in the ward: down a hallway and out the door at the end of said hallway into a courtyard. This time, he finally got to walk out the door he'd watched so many of his friends use, completing his graduation from inpatient to outpatient. Once he arrived in the waiting room of the psychiatric ward, he saw a familiar blue jacket.

"Sup, fuckass?" Kenny called from the doorway. This caught the attention of several people: a mother whos child was playing on an iPad, the receptionist, and Craig.

"Excuse me young man, you can't say that in here," the receptionist scolded. Kenny rolled his eyes and walked over to where Craig was sitting.

"Sup, asswipe?" Craig responded, voice emotionless but face oddly expressive. It was brief, but Kenny noticed relief in his friend's eyes. Kenny reached his hand out to help Craig stand, smiling.

"The usual. Apparently I'm crazy," Kenny laughed. By this point, Craig had taken Kenny's hand and was now standing next to him. The blond noticed that his friend hadn't let go of his hand, but he didn't really care.

"I'm going to have to ask you two to leave," the receptionist called. Kenny looked over at her, noticing the disgusted scowl on her face.

"Is it because of the swearing?" Craig chuckled.

"Homosexuality is a sin! You boys are going to hell, you know!" the receptionist spat. "Leviticus 18:22 says that you should not lie with males-"

"Yeah, yeah," Kenny chuckled, looking up at Craig. It took him pretty long to notice, but Craig was half a head taller than him. To make up for the height disadvantage he was at, he stood on his toes.

"What're you doing-?" Craig whispered. Kenny let go of Craig's hand and brought his hand up to hold the back of his head.

"Shh, go with it," he mumbled, leaning in. Craig caught on pretty quickly, and by the time their lips were touching,the receptionist was screaming obscenities. Between her rampant screams, Kenny heard the mother behind him gasp in horror and tell her kid to not look.

Craig pulled Kenny closer, and Kenny smiled against Craig's lips. He could hear the receptionist now quoting Leviticus 20:13, saying that he and Craig deserved to die. Tough shit, Kenny thought, his smile widening. Craig broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Kenny's, smiling as well. They took a moment looking into eachothers eyes to try to read the other's emotions before turning to face the dumbfounded receptionist. Craig removed one of his hands from it's final resting spot on Kenny's hip and simply flipped her off.

"Guards!" she shouted, face red with fury. The two boys snickered and darted to the door, throwing it open with ease and booking it through the winding hospital hallways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really sorry if this seemed kinda stiff or forced, i had written myself into a corner and needed to get myself out. i promise following chapters will be better !!


	21. Chapter 21

"How'd you get this one?"

"Stabbed."

"And this one?"

"Decapitation."

"Holy _shit_."

Their conversation had been going like this for nearing half an hour at that point. Craig was intrigued by Kenny's memory of his scars, regardless if they were fatal or not. He was also pretty impressed at the blond's ability to remain shirtless in the bitter Colorado winter night. The shirt supplied by the hospital had long since been strewn far away from the two, collecting whatever bugs were daring enough to venture out in the frigid temperatures.

"What about this one?" Craig asked slowly, pointing to a scar closer to Kenny's pelvis bone.

"I disembowled myself one time," Kenny shrugged.

"Why?" Craig inquired, barely phased by the statement anymore. After everything he'd been told in the past little bit, that statement was comparatively more than a walk in the park.

"If I can't die, I might as well figure out what every death feels like," he responded simply. Craig nodded, as if he understood. Kenny knew he sympathized, but no one would ever completely know how it felt to be so empty and hopeless that you just try out various drastic deaths for fun.

Kenny shifted how he sat, his hand brushing against the floor of the treehouse as he attempted to keep himself stable. He visibly cringed, however not in pain. He was still getting used to not having his left arm. Thankfully, most of his fuck ups had happened out of view of any vaguely boy he might be somewhat romantically interested in.

Definitley not Craig, though. He just had a nice dick (which he could only vaguely remember on account of how wasted he'd been when he'd interacted with it). And warm hands. And soft hair. And soft lips...

"...nny. Kenny!" Craig laughed, putting a hand on Kenny's shoulder and shaking him. Kenny jumped, blushing and glancing down at the floor. "What's up, dude? You seemed so fucking into whatever you were thinking about."

"Nothing!" Kenny stammered, a tinge of pink spreading across his cheeks. It wasn't immediately detectable on account of the darkness engulfing the two, but Craig obviously could tell.

"Sure," he teased. He looked like he was getting ready to say something incredibly antagonistic, but in his trademarked _asshole-who-is-actually-trying-to-be-flirty_ style, but his phone buzzing against the wooden floor immediately distracted him. He took a quick glance at the screen before fumbling to grab it, standing up as he did so. "Ah, hold on, it's my mom-"

"Take your time," Kenny called, watching Craig walk to a further corner of the treehouse. He sighed, turning his gaze to the shoddy roof of the structure. He couldn't have a crush on Craig, could he? It'd be pretty fucked up, seeing as Craig's ex boyfriend died a few weeks ago. He didn't wanna be pushy, but he also didn't want to be a rebound. It'd happened to him before. He briefly remembered the time he had genuinely loved Stan in seventh grade, but Stan had only impulsively gotten with him. The breakup sucked, and it _may_ have resulted in him falling into one of his deepest depressions he could remember.

His thoughts began to trail down the horrible memory lane of his failed relationships. He moved his arm, allowing himself to fall backwards as he stared through the roof. His relationship with Butters was one of the more stable ones, but it still wasn't easy. Butters didn't believe that he died so much. He didn't even listen when Kenny would tell him about his experiences. Of course, he usually didn't remember anything leading up to his deaths either.

But now he did.

Before Kenny could think too much about any of his other failed attempts at finding love, he heard footsteps approaching the ladder. He scrambled to sit up, glancing over in the direction he heard Craig coming from. "What's up?"

"Dinner," Craig said simply, beginning to descend the ladder. Kenny just kind of watched him, not making an effort to move. After he'd taken a few steps away from the treehouse, he'd obviously noticed, because Kenny heard him stop dead in his tracks. "What're you doing?"

"Waiting. I sneak in at what time again?" Kenny inquired.

"You don't. You're coming to dinner with me tonight," Craig responded.

"Wh.... But your parents-"

"I think it's time I introduced you to them," Craig stated. "Get your ass down here."

Without another exchange, Kenny slipped on his shitty hospital shirt and did his best to descend the ladder with one arm. It was harder than climbing with one arm for sure, but it wasn't entirely impossible. Once he'd made it down (surprisingly in one piece), he and Craig began the walk back to the only semblence of a home Kenny had left anymore.

 

* * *

 

The dinner table was pretty quiet. The absent sounds of silverwear clinking against glass dishes was filling most of the silence. Alongside the obnoxious open-mouth chewing of Craig's little sister, of course.

Craig had yet to formally introduce him to his parents. He was amused by the concept of just accepting when your son brings home a three-limbed kid with scars covering his face. He never imagined that that could be done without any question or comment. He was always so self conscious about his scars, it never had occurred to him that people might not question him about it.

The first one to speak up at all during the meal was none other than Craig's little sister. "So where's he sleeping?"

It looked like Mr. Tucker was going to speak up, but he was quickly cut off by Craig. "My room."

"Now son," Mr. Tucker spoke slowly. "I don't think that's very appropriate on account of you being-"

"Thomas!" Mrs. Tucker spoke up. Mr. Tucker, now known as Thomas, looked more than frustrated that the fact he'd been interrupted twice in the past minute, but his wife payed no mind as she continued. "Craig is seventeen years old. I think it's more than okay for him to have his friend sleep in his room."

"He may be seventeen, but he's still a minor!" Thomas defended.

"He's going to be an adult next year. Do we really need to baby him anymore?"

"I just don't like the idea of anything happening under my roof!"

Kenny kind of looked at Craig, the discomfort in both of their eyes making it clear that they should probably politely excuse themselves. Wordlessly, they simultaneously stood and slowly backed away from the table. The sound of the argument that was starting faded as they headed toward the stairs fixed at the front of the house.

"So, uh, your dad's pretty, uh...." Kenny said slowly, hoping his inability to come up with any sort of description was description enough. Craig nodded in agreement, quietly reaching his hand behind him as he began to ascent the stairs. Kenny took Craig's hand, butterflies beginning to softly flutter in his stomach at this simple touch. If he still had his left arm, he'd probably punch himself in the stomach to kill the sons of bitches.

They were about halfway up the stairs when the heavy thudding of running approached their general area. "Wait, boys!" Mrs. Tucker called after them. They stopped, turning to look down at the part of the living room visible from their current positions. "Boys, I wanted to apologize."

"It's okay, Mom, I know Dad can be a dick," Craig responded.

"I just... Kenny, we're glad to have you," she smiled, making eye contact with the blond. Kenny slipped his hand out of Craig's to give the woman a thumbs up.

"I'm glad to be here."

"I... heard about how things have been for you recently. I'm sorry if my husband has upset you at all tonight. I know you need a break-"

"Listen," Kenny chuckled a bit, holding his hand up. "It's okay. I don't need excessive pity. It's all okay, trust me."

"If you're sure..." Mrs. Tucker said slowly. She looked uncertain, but her ability to fake a smile was convincing to anyone with no ability to read people. "Help yourself to anything in the house. We want you to feel at home here."

Kenny nodded in both thanks and agreement, looking up at Craig. His friend was smiling a bit, but quickly tried to neutralize his expression upon Kenny's noticing him. Quietly, he began to make his way up the steps once more, implying that Kenny should follow. The blond gave Mrs. Tucker a smile before turning and running up the stairs after his friend.


	22. Chapter 22

"Ignore the mess," Craig muttered dismissively, walking into his room with Kenny following close behind. The distant chatter of the Tuckers eating dinner slowly faded as the blond crossed the threshold into his friend's room.

It was messier than it was before. He caught a glimpse of an ash tray in desparate need of emptying atop Craig's nightstand in his peripheral vision, sighing and shaking his head a bit in disapproval. Didn't Craig know that that was a potential hazard...? He made his way to the bed, plopping down on it and absent-mindedly grabbing the open pack of cigarettes that was left there. "Is it cool if I bum a smoke?"

"No," Craig said simply. Kenny paused, silently slipping the cigarette he'd already pulled out back into the pack and setting it on the nightstand. As soon as he let go of the box, however, he was pelted with a few other similarly sized ones. He looked at them in confusion as they fell to the floor at his feet.

"Dude, what the fuck?" he said with a humph, leaning over the edge of the bed and gathering the packs. "This had to have costed you a fucking fortune."

"Consider it a get well soon gift," Craig responded, opening and closing his dresser drawers as if he was searching for something. "I would have given it to you when you were in the hospital, but I figured the last thing they wanted mental patients to have was access to fire and deadly chemical concoctions."

"Thanks a fuckin' ton," Kenny hummed excitedly, tearing the plastic off of one pack and immediately opening it. "They didn't give me a nicotine patch in the hospital and I'm fucking craving it right now."

For a moment, the sound of a lighter followed Kenny's heavy inhalation of the toxic substances in the cigarette was all that could be heard in the room, save for the noise of the wooden drawers slamming shut. As if on cue, Craig turned to face Kenny, his arms now full of clothes. "You need to change, and I need to shower."

"Can I change when I'm done my cigarette?" Kenny asked, staring at the ceiling. "I'd love to be in anything but clothing from the hospital, but I kind of need this more right now."

"Whatever, just change before you even think of sleeping. And throw those clothes away," he mumbled. Kenny opened his mouth to ask what clothes he should change into, but before he could, Craig had already turned on his heel and started toward the bathroom door on the other side of the room. The blond sighed, reaching his hand across the mess atop the nightstand to flick the cherry off into the already heaping ash tray.

He leaned back onto the stack of pillows behind him, taking another drag of his cigarette and blowing the smoke out slowly. The sound of the shower became the soundtrack to the first cigarette he'd had in weeks.

 

* * *

 

"I hope you don't mind I'm wearing your Fall Out Boy shirt. It looks new," the blond said absently, sitting on a chair in front of Craig's hamster's cage. He was smoking another cigarette, but this time without the intense cravings he'd been having earlier making it seem forced. This time it was more relaxing. Theraputic, even.

More theraputic than the hospital ever could have been.

"It's fine," Craig mumbled from his place on the bed. "Wear whatever you want."

"You sound distant," Kenny commented, watching as the rodent in front of him ran on a squeaky wheel. He briefly wondered how animals lived their lives in conditions humans gave them. Surely they had to get bored, right? Being trapped somewhere against your will wasn't fun.

Maybe it was just the hospital getting to him. Maybe it was just his encounter with God getting to him. He just didn't like the idea of feeling trapped somewhere.

"A lot's happened in the past month or so," the black haired boy responded. "I'm just thinking."

Kenny sighed, taking a drag of his cigarette and blowing it away from the cage, toward the open window to his left. Once the cigarette was placed between his lips again, he returned his gaze to Craig's pet and rested his elbow on his knee, leaving his hand to serve as a rest for his chin. "What's this little fucker's name?"

"Blade."

"Didn't you have a hamster named Stripe before?"

"It was a guinea pig, but that was almost 10 years ago."

"What happened to him?"

"The same fucking thing that happens to everyone else I love, apparently."

Kenny fell silent, eyes following Blade as he got off the wheel and ran toward one of the weird treats that Craig semi-religiously seemed to give him. He wasn't exactly sure how to respond. Yeah, sure, he didn't think rodents had super long lives, but... he didn't think Stripe had died.

"First Stripe," Craig continued to fill the silence. "Then Tweek. And then I thought it was all over, but it wasn't. Of fucking course it wasn't."

"Craig, I'm sorry," Kenny mumbled, cigarette making his speech a bit less understandable. "I shouldn't have asked-"

"No," Craig interrupted, sitting up. The mattress squeaked under Craig's movements, and Kenny could hear when the boy stood. "The only good thing about any of this is the last person isn't dead, okay? He's not dead. He was, but now he's not, and I'm still trying to wrap my mind around why even though he's practically spelled it out for me."

"Craig-"

"And I fucking care about him so much even though I haven't known him as long as I've known most people. And when I thought he was dead I couldn't take it. But he's not dead, and I shouldn't be so fucking worked up about this but here I am!" his voice cracked, but he cleared his throat and continued despite it. "Here I am, losing my shit over something so small. I shouldn't be so upset over this shit. He's alive. He's alive and that's all I should care about."

"Are you okay-"

"But him being alive doesn't erase what I saw," Craig's voice was fading into a whisper, and Kenny turned in time to see him fall to his knees on the ground. "It doesn't erase that I held his dead body in my arms, or that the assholes who drove the ambulance told me that he was a lost cause. It doesn't fix any of that."

Kenny remained silent, watching as his friend covered his face with his hands and as his shoulders shook with sobs. He watched as he showed more emotion in a few minutes than he'd shown the entire rest of the time the blond had known him. And the entire time he watched, he couldn't stop focusing on one thing.

He was talking about him.

Wordlessly, he put his cigarette out in the ash tray he'd stolen from next to the Playstation earlier and walked over to where Craig was currently kneeling. As he approached, he made it a point to be as silent as possible. He didn't want to scare him, or to cause his breakdown to be any worse.

"It's my fucking fault," Craig breathed between sobs. "I told you that I used you, and you fucking killed yourself. And you're back, but it's _my fault_."

"It isn't your fault," Kenny said softly, kneeling down next to Craig and putting his hand on his back. He felt the other boy flinch, but he didn't remove his hand. He simply began to rub his back in small circles. "It isn't at all your fault."

"How isn't it?! It happened right after. You left my house and you killed yourself right after," Craig sobbed, pulling his face from his hands and turning to look at Kenny.

"I wanted you to forget me. I wanted to erase everything about me because-"

"Because I hurt you!"

"Because I didn't want to add to your hurt."

"Bullshit!" Craig choked out. Kenny shook his head.

"It's not bullshit. I told you once, I'll tell you again: I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a liar."

Craig stared at Kenny, mouth slightly open like he was about to say something, eyes red, cheeks soggy with tears. It broke Kenny's heart seeing his friend like this.

"Why do you care about me so goddamn much?" Craig whispered after a moment, sniffling. Tears were still rolling down his face, but he wasn't sobbing anymore.

"The same reason you care about me, I guess," Kenny shrugged, looking directly into Craig's eyes. Craig froze, tears still falling.

"Kenny-"

"I don't like dying, Craig. I know it's really hard to wrap your mind around, and I don't expect you to understand even a tenth of it. But I wouldn't die for just anyone. I care about you a lot. I don't want you to hurt," Kenny said softly, shifting so he was sitting right next to Craig. He moved his arm, reaching between the two of them to grab at Craig's left hand. It was wet with tears, but Kenny didn't care.

Craig looked over at Kenny, gripping his hand tighter than the blond had expected him to. The tears started falling harder, and before Kenny could realize what was happening, Craig used his free arm to pull him into a hug. "I love you," he breathed. He buried his head into Kenny's shoulder, crying hard once more. "I fucking love you so much. Please don't ever do that again."

Kenny slipped his hand out of Craig's in favor of wrapping it around him.

"I love you too, Craig," he hummed softly into his ear, running the tips of his fingers up and down his back slowly in an attempt to soothe him. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Do you promise?" Craig whispered, gripping onto the fabric of Kenny's shirt. Kenny felt his chest tighten. He'd never heard Craig so emotional. So open. So vulnerable. He took a deep breath, resting his hand on the small of Craig's back.

"I promise."


	23. Chapter 23

"Are you sure I'm actually allowed back?"

"Yeah. Eric talked to the principal. He cleared up the whole thing."

"Goddamn, Eric did it?"

"Yeah."

Kenny was making a valiant attempt at pulling on a white tanktop. He wasn't entirely convinced that it'd fit correctly, seeing as his lack of a normal shoulder could prove problematic for the way the clothing article was meant to be worn, but it was worth a shot anyway. Once he'd gotten it on somewhat correctly, he glanced over at Craig, who was currently shirtless and digging through a pile of haphazardly thrown tshirts. "But like... it could be a setup."

"Kyle was a witness or something," the boy mumbled, glancing at a very wrinkled shirt he'd picked up before throwing it off to the side. "And if it still turns out to be a setup, I'll kick his ass."

Kenny chuckled, pulling one of the hoodies Craig had off of the sofa and fumbling to get it over his head. "You don't have to beat anyone up for me. I can hold my arm."

"You're down an arm. Imagine the advantage Eric and his ton of body fat would have over you," Craig murmered, pulling a shirt out of the pile and putting it on. He retrieved his usual jacket from the floor nearby. "I think it's my job to fight for my disabled boyfriend if the need arises."

"Oh shut up. I'm not disabled. Jimmy's disabled. I'm just an amputee," Kenny laughed, managing to pull the hoodie on correctly. The out-of-use sleeve hung at his side limply. For the first little bit, the novelty of long sleeves flopping around as he walked made him laugh. Now it was more or less normal to him. He watched as Craig sat on the bed, pulling his shoes from under it and undoing the laces momentarily.

"I think amputees count as disabled people," Craig responded, slipping a foot into one of the shoes. "But I could be wrong. It's too early for disability politics, McCormick."

"You're gonna have to deal with classes that are far more complicated than disability politics in, like, an hour."

"You act like I actually pay attention."

"I mean, I don't pay attention either. I just kind of assumed that economics and chemistry were worse than discussing what does or doesn't count as a disability."

"Maybe I should see if my inability to deal with bullshit classes is a disability," Craig chuckled to himself as he slid on his other shoe.

"I think that's just called being a moron," Kenny teased from the position he'd taken on the sofa, lacing up his boots as best as he could with one hand. He hadn't actually figured out how to tie his shoes without both hands yet. It kind of just resulted in loose knots. The only saving grace for him was the zippers and velcro on the sides that supported him where his laces couldn't. "I don't think you can get help or benefits for a brain cell deficiency."

"There are probably more missing cells in my brain than there were cells in your arm, so I think I'd get even more compensation."

"I think you just called yourself brain-dead."

"If I drank as much as you do, that'd damn near be the truth."

As they continued to rip at eachother for their respective shortcomings (as they'd become accustomed to doing on the daily), there was a knock at the door. Before either of the boys could ask who was there, a small voice piped up.

"Are we leaving soon or what? I don't wanna be late because you two decided to have morning sex or something."

"God, Ruby, you're supposed to be in middle school. Sex isn't a middle school thing," Craig groaned, pushing himself off his bed and walking toward the door. No sooner did he open it than did his little sister step in, leaning against the doorframe as she cleared her throat.

"You were having sex in middle school," she hummed.

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Is it just because I'm your little sister?" she smirked. Kenny let out a half-hearted "aww" as he turned his attention from his boots to his boyfriend.

"Craig, you're such a softie," he cooed. Craig picked up a pair of boxers off the floor and balled it up as best he could, tossing it at Kenny. He dodged it with no problem

"Shut up," he said flatly.

"If I'm disabled, then that was a hate crime!" Kenny declared, standing up. As soon as he began to walk, one of his laces came undone. Craig rolled his eyes and crouched down, tying the blond's shoes.

"What're you gonna do? Arrest me?" Craig prodded.

"I mean, cuffing you wouldn't exactly be a problem," Kenny responded, watching Craig's slim fingers work on his laces. Ruby cleared her throat from the door.

"Hello? Seventh grader in the room?" she said, exaggerated to the point that it was a clear joke. Due to this obviousness, it garnered no response, which made her upset. "Whatever. I'll be downstairs. Come down whenever you two are done being so gay."

"Guess we're missing school, then!" Kenny called, voice raising as he listened to her march away from the room. After she was out of earshot, Craig stood up and looked Kenny in the eyes. They stood in silence for a moment before Kenny turned, making his way to the door. Before he could get very far, Craig grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Hey, woah, what the fuck are you-"

"Let's get one thing straight," he said softly, walking infront of the blond boy and facing him once more. "You wouldn't be the one arresting anyone."

"You wanna bet?" Kenny smirked.

"I'd like to see you try to win. You're an amputee, remember?" Craig retorted, kissing Kenny's forehead before leaving the room. Kenny hung back for a few moments before gaining his senses, immediately running out of the room.

"We amputees prefer the term disabled, thank you very much!" he called, his laughter filling the hallway as he ran.

 

* * *

 

The cafeteria was noisy as hell, and Kenny felt self conscious walking around without his hood up. Now everyone could see his scars, the same scars he'd fought for years to hide. Craig tried to comfort him in the fact that no one really cared, but he couldn't shake the thought that everyone still thought he was some psychopathic murderer. That's what Eric had been trying to peddle, right?

Kenny walked close to Craig, his face red and attention directed at the floor as they made their way to a lunch table. The blond's hand trembled as he carried his tray of badly re-heated pizza. "Do we have to sit with them?"

"I'll kick their asses if they try anything. Don't worry," Craig responded, stopping after a few steps. Kenny almost continued walking, but Craig's fingers gently brushing his thigh caused him to look up.

"Hey Kenny!" Kyle grinned. Kenny froze, his eyes meeting with those of his friend's. It felt... weird. Kyle and him had barely spoken the entire time he'd been reincarnated. It had been somewhere around two months now, and they couldn't have exchanged more than a few words. And here he was, speaking to him as if they spoke every day.

He felt his heart speed up, and apparently his panic was obvious. Craig shushed him gently and helped him sit down, grabbing the tray of food out of Kenny's hands before it could fall to the floor.

"You alright?" Butters asked. Kenny froze, tilting his head down to face his pizza. He hadn't even noticed Butters.

"Guys, come on. It's _obvious_ that he's awestruck. I mean, he _is_ sitting at a table with moi," Eric laughed.

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman," Kyle mumbled.

The conversation continued beyond that, but Kenny didn't hear any of it. His mind was becoming a swirling cauldron of overthinking. What if this wasn't the same timeline he'd been in before after all? What if God had fucked him over and completely switched things up on him. That couldn't be the case because he was missing his arm. It'd be back if he wasn't in the same timeline. But everyone was acting way too casual.

His breathing quickened, and he habitually raised a hand to pull at the strings of the hoodie. When he tugged on the string, he remembered his hood wasn't up. Without meaning to, he slammed his fist on the table, starting to cry.

"Holy shit dude, are you okay?" Kyle immediately asked, despite the food in his mouth. Kenny only started to cry harder. Why was this happening? Why now? Why did he have to start thinking about this shit when his friends were there? They remembered him now. That's what he'd wanted, right?

...Right?

"Kenny, are you okay?" Craig mumbled, leaning in close to the blond's ear. Kenny reflexively moved back, eyes wide and tears flowing.

"Dude, holy shit... Kenny is totally freaking out right now! Why isn't anyone filming?!" Eric laughed, fumbling with his jacket pockets to retrieve his phone. Kenny jumped to his feet, backing up from the table a bit. His eyes grew wider and he froze in his spot.

"What's wrong?" Butters piped up, voice ripe with worry. Kenny couldn't bring himself to respond. He felt himself start to hyperventilate, and before he could overthink too much more, he darted for the cafeteria door. As he ran, he could hear footsteps behind him, matching his pace. Rubber soles squeaked againt linoleum flooring as Kenny ran from his problems and, now, the person chasing him.

He needed to be alone. He didn't know where he could be alone anymore, though.

"Leave me alone! Just fucking leave me alone!" Kenny shouted, voice raw with desperation.

"I care about you, you piece of shit! Tell me what's wrong!" Craig called after him. Kenny inhaled sharply, stumbling and slowing down to regain his composure. This downtime let Craig catch up to him, though, and before he knew it the boy had his wrist gripped in his hand.

"Let go," Kenny mumbled, sniffling and choking a bit.

"What's wrong?" Craig asked again, voice stern but obviously worried. Kenny's head shot up, and he made eye contact with his boyfriend.

"You... lied," Kenny breathed, tears continuing to flow. He tried to rip his arm away from Craig, but to no avail. "You fucking lied!"

"How?! How did I lie to you? I've been nothing but truthful with you ever since we met," Craig responded rather harshly.

"You told me they remembered! That they knew that I've died over and over again!" Kenny sobbed. "You told me they remembered it."

"They remember you shooting yourself in fourth grade. I never said they-"

"You told me they remembered," Kenny repeated. Craig loosened his grip on Kenny's wrist, and Kenny pulled it away. He held it to his chest defensively and looked at the black haired boy, betrayal written in his eyes.

"Kenny. Listen to me. I told you they remembered you dying in fourth grade. You can't expect them to remember things that didn't happen here, though," Craig spoke slowly, trying to convince the blond. Kenny shook his head slowly, though.

"I know what you said, Craig," he said softly, voice beginning to get raspy. "You said that they _remembered_."

"You can't fucking expect them to remember you dying over and over! It's hard for anyone to even fathom, let alone remember!" Craig shouted. His voice echoed throughout the empty hallways. "You told me something about timelines. If that's true, then in this timeline they only saw you die once. You have lived through hundreds of timelines, and you remember them all because you were there."

"But-"

"They weren't. You can't expect them to remember you getting decapitated if they saw you shoot yourself. I think you're expecting a little too much from them, don't you think?"

"But I-"

"Kenny. It's a goddamn miracle any of them remember you in the first place. Why are you trying to push your luck? What are you trying to prove?"

It was that goddamn question again. Why did everyone want to know what he was trying to prove? To his own knowledge, he wasn't trying to prove anything.

"You have people who care about you, Kenny. Do you want us to remember all of your deaths? Do you want us to be as fucked up over it as you? Do you know what the human brain does when you have that kind of shit happen around you over and over?"

"Yes, I fucking do!" Kenny shouted, finally getting his full thought out. "I don't think you're realizing what you're saying!"

"Boys, aren't you supposed to be in lunch right now?" a voice echoed down the hall. It was Mr. Mackey. Kenny and Craig both turned to face him.

"I was just leaving," Kenny muttered.

"You're mandatorally enrolled in school right now, Kenneth. You aren't suspended anymore," the man said, approaching the duo slowly.

"He's having an episode. Just let him go," Craig mumbled defeatedly. There was obvious hurt in his voice. Before Mr. Mackey could speak anymore, Kenny huffed and continued his mad dash to the front entrance of the door.

He'd done this so many fucking times already, it was starting to get old. The burst of cold air that hit his face as he threw the doors open startled him, but he kept running regardless.

Craig knew about the treehouse. He couldn't be alone there. He needed to find a new spot to hide. One where only he knew where it was.

He needed to be alone. He couldn't take it anymore.

Nothing was right. Everything was off, and he didn't know where he was.

He wasn't sure he knew _when_ he was.


	24. Chapter 24

If you started from the school entrance and ran straight, you'd eventually come to a tree line. There was nothing special in the woods, but it was somewhere the residents of South Park rarely went. Kenny figured this'd be a good spot to isolate himself. He hardly trusted his legs to get him anywhere further.

As soon as he was deep enough in the woods, he dropped to his knees and supported himself with his arm. He began to tremble, and soon after his sobs became overwhelming. His chest hurt, his throat hurt, his head hurt... everything hurt. He wasn't sure if he was just having a really bad panic attack or if he was actually dying again.

He actually wished that he could just die again. He wanted out of this timeline so bad. Everything was wrong. Craig lied to him. He trusted Craig. He hadn't talked about his deaths to anyone in years, but he trusted Craig enough to tell him, and now he was lied to. He got his hopes up that his friends could remember, but they didn't. Of course they didn't.

In the back of his mind, Kenny knew that Craig was right. His friends in this timeline only knew about his one death in fourth grade. They'd have no actual way of remembering any of his other deaths. But... he had hoped. He had hoped so badly that they'd remember his past in full, that they'd remember it graphically like he did, that he'd let it get the best of him.

He choked on his sobs as his thoughts continued to race.

Why _did_ he want his friends to remember it all? After only two years of dying almost daily, he'd started an unhealthy habit of killing himself ritualistically. Sure, it was probably worse to experience the deaths first hand, but witnessing them over and over probably wouldn't do anyone any good. He felt horrible for having Craig witness _one_ of his deaths...

God, why did he have that massive breakdown over Craig making _actual sense_?

After a moment, he choked on his sobs harder, finding it hard to support himself with just one arm. He collapsed into the snow, curling in on himself and sobbing harder, his body trembling with each wail he let out. His breakdown was so loud it was a surprise no one heard him. There was a neighborhood near those woods after all... Maybe everyone had just collectively stopped caring? Maybe Craig talking sense into him had reset everything.

Maybe he'd been forgotten again.

Icy snow stabbed into his skin as he moved his head, his cheek brushing against the rough surface. It hurt, but it was okay. Maybe he needed to hurt right now. Maybe he needed the pain of injury without death. It had always been a good lesson to give himself, to teach himself that he couldn't always get out of situations easily. Pain without dying was such a rare occurence for him... how did normal people experience it so casually.

He continued to scratch his face against the rough ice, almost without any control over the action. He was so focused on the feeling of the ice scraping his skin that he didn't hear the crunching of shoes against the snow-covered path he'd followed to get where he was. He only became aware of the presence of other people when hands were on his arm and he was being pulled up.

"What the fuck are you doing, Kenny?!" Kyle shouted, his hands wrapped around Kenny's upper arm. Kenny didn't respond, he just simply continued to sob. Craig kneeled down next to where Kenny's head previously lie and cursed under his breath.

"Do you see what you're doing to yourself?!" he shouted, pressing his fingers to the patch of icy snow. When he lifted it, he held his hand up infront of Kenny's face. Red covered his fingers, and the heat from his body was making the semi-frozen fluid drip. "You're hurting yourself. Why the fuck are you-?!"

"Why shouldn't I?" Kenny rasped. He sounded weak, pathetic, empty. He only noticed the warm blood dripping down his left cheek after Craig had pointed out his self harm. Tears stinged the cuts on his cheek, and it made him twitch with pain every time he felt it. Kyle's hands left his arm and moved to hold on to Kenny's torso momentarily before entirely pulling him into an awkward side-hug type of hold. "Why shouldn't I do that?! It's the only way anyone will know how fucking much it hurts!"

"Can you stop focusing on your shitty past for just one second, McCormick?" Craig yelled. His voice was full of sadness. Full of sympathy. Full of desparation. "We know that we can't ever fucking understand what you went through. We know that you have experienced things we'll never fully know about. But if no one ever remembers _anything_ , why are you upset that we only remember _one_ thing?"

Kenny was quiet, save for sobbing and sniffling.

"Kenny, I know you wish we'd remember more," Kyle said slowly, voice soft. "I know you wish we understood how you're hurting, but... Please try to realize how much it hurt to suddenly remember one of our closest friends killing himself when he was only nine years old. I know it'll never amount to the pain you felt that day, or the pain you felt any of the other multitudes of times, but..."

"I understand," Kenny mumbled, barely understandable through his sobs. "I know. I'm sorry for freaking out."

"You don't have to be sorry," Craig responded quickly. "We just want you to understand us. How can you expect us to even try to understand what you're going through if you cant hear us out, you know?"

Kenny nodded, raising his hand to wipe at his eyes. His sobs were calming down a bit, and his shaking was stopping for the most part.

"I know, I'm sorry," he whispered, staring at the snow to his side. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw the patch of red-stained snow that Craig had touched minutes prior. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"We're sorry too, Kenny," Kyle murmered.

"Don't be," Kenny said, voice devoid of any emotion by this point. His voice was raw, and it was quiet, but no emotion could be detected at all anymore. "I expected too much. I'm the sorry one."

The woods became quiet for a few moments, save for the occasional crunch of icy snow as Craig readjusted his stance. It took Kyle clearing his throat to break the uncomfortable air that had settled around them.

"I need to get back to school," the ginger said softly. "I promise I'll see you later, though."

With that, Kyle let go of Kenny, and Kenny had to catch himself before he fell to the snowy ground once more. Craig was infront of Kenny within moments, extending his hand out to him. The blond glanced up at his boyfriend, eyes stinging from how much he'd cried. The sounds of snow crunching as Kyle walked away served as the only background noise the woods had to offer.

"Hey, remember when we chainsmoked in the bathroom that one time?" Craig asked gently, tone completely different than it had been moments prior. Kenny nodded in response. "Remember how we ditched and you showed me your hiding spot?"

"What're you getting at?" Kenny mumbled, voice still pretty emotionless. He took hold of Craig's hand and was immediately helped up, their hands remaining intertwined even once Kenny was standing.

"I want to return the favor," he responded simply. His usually blank expression became one of happy embarassment, and the small smile on Craig's lips made Kenny feel a little better. Without any more words being exchanged, they made their way out of the forest and down the road, holding hands the entire way.


	25. Chapter 25

The walk was without any conversation. The only sounds that could be heard the whole time were those of snow crunching under the feet of the two boys and bird singing as they flew overhead. All the while, Kenny held tight to Craig, still recovering from his breakdown he'd had minutes prior.

Craig stopped in his tracks once they were across the street from his own house. Kenny cocked an eyebrow, looking over at his boyfriend. "This is your house."

"Astute observation, McCormick," he snickered, leading him across the street and toward the side of his house. Kenny, of course, followed, still just as confused. It wasn't until Craig started scaling the house that he had a vague idea of what was going on.

"Wouldn't it be easier to go into the house and climb through a window?" Kenny asked nervously.

"Not really," Craig shrugged. The blond watched as his boyfriend pulled himself up the side of the house, clutching onto plastic paneling and window panes as he did so.

"I think you're forgetting something," Kenny said slowly. Craig craned his neck, looking down at the boy. He opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but a look of realization quickly washed over him.

"I think we have a ladder in the shed," he mumbled, climbing down to a safe enough height to jump from before doing just that. He grabbed Kenny's hand, leading him to a ratty structure behind his house, almost shadowed completely by the overgrown treeline. He was silent as he walked, and only let go of Kenny's hand once he had to open the shed and dig through it. "This makes it less adventurous, you know."

"I'm all for adventure, but I'd rather not crack my skull open trying to climb with a single arm," Kenny remarked, watching from behind his blue-clad boyfriend.

"You act like death is a big deal for you," Craig chuckled, rummaging through haphazardly piled heaps of garbage. Kenny felt a pang of anxiety shoot through his midsection, but said nothing in reference to it.

"I mean, it's not permanent, but it still sucks ass. I kind of lost an arm from it last time," he reminded.

"You're still alive, though," Craig hummed, shrugging before he stopped rummaging. "Can you give me a hand?"

"It's all I have left," he joked, walking forward to see what Craig needed assistance with. He saw the glimmer of a metal ladder, but it was buried beneath boxes. "Dude, are you from a family of hoarders?"

"Just help me move this shit," Craig responded quickly, picking up a box that immediately rang with the telltale sound of glass shattering. His face flushed red, and a look of bewildered embarassment and fear washed over him. He quietly set the box down on the floor beside him, pulling his hat off and running a hand through his black locks. "Fuck."

"If it's in the shed, I don't think anyone will question why it's broken," Kenny commented, making a valiant attempt at moving a box on his own but failing miserably. Without any comment, Craig quickly helped the blond move the box next to the other one.

"True," he mumbled quietly, reaching for another box. He took a sharp inhale as he picked it up, obviously struggling under the weight of something. It wasn't obvious how heavy the box was until he almost stumbled backwards when attempting to walk. Kenny wanted to get behind him just in case he fell, but he wasn't sure how much help he'd be without the full ability to catch him. Instead, he backed out of the path Craig seemed to be taking, watching with bated breath as he struggled to carry the box over to the growing crowd of moved items.

"What the hell is even in that?" Kenny asked, walking over as soon as Craig was about to set the box down. It slipped from his grip almost immediately, and a loud thud resounded throughout the backyard. Craig's eyes went wide once more, and he took a moment before kneeling down infront of the box.

"You got a knife on you?" Craig asked. Kenny patted his pockets, trying to feel if he had a pocket knife on him or not, but shook his head once he was sure he'd checked himself twice over. "Damn it. Alright, it's time to DIY this shit."

"It's opening a box. Just get something sharp," Kenny said bluntly, disbelief in his voice. "Why the fuck would you have to DIY opening a box."

"Do I tell you how to live your life? I don't get to have my adventure of climbing the house, so I want to do _something_ ," he said, voice confident. Kenny rolled his eyes. "Wanna help me look for a sharp stick?"

"That isn't DIYing."

"But it's adventure."

"Whatever."

Craig stood, brushing the dust off his pants before walking around the shed and toward the treeline. Kenny followed, trailing a few feet behind Craig just in case there was any danger ahead. He wasn't in the mood to die. "Wouldn't there be sticks literally on the border of the woods?"

"That's too easy," the boy responded, moving branches out of the way as he walked slowly through the mess of foliage. "I want something that isn't going to snap easily."

"Don't you have a house key? We could literally just get a knife from the kitchen."

"Adventure."

"Right."

They continued through the woods wordlessly, Kenny watching as Craig examined every relatively big stick they came across. It felt like the minutes just got longer and longer as they explored, and by the time Craig had amassed a bundle of sticks, Kenny wasn't exactly sure of where they were. The woods in South Park tended to interconnect a lot of local areas, and he was sure they were far beyond the neighborhood at this point.

"Dude, do you even remember how to get back?" Kenny called out, making a point to catch up to Craig as soon as he'd stopped walking. Craig turned around, facing the blond as he approached him. He pursed his lips, placing a finger against them and motioning with his head at something Kenny couldn't see. "What-"

"Listen," Craig mumbled, keeping his finger against his own lips as he watched Kenny's face closely. Kenny strained to listen, but once he heard what Craig wanted him to hear, his eyes widened a bit.

"Are we-"

"Yeah. Wanna go check it out?"

"I... I don't know."

"It's going to be okay, okay?" Craig said, voice empty of discernable emotion but eyes full of reassurance. Kenny swallowed hard, gripping onto Craig's hand quickly before they both began to walk foward. Craig stepped carefully, making sure to avoid making too much noise as they walked. Kenny tried his best to mimic those same movements.

"...t's wrong with him? I don't get it," Eric said. His voice was distant, and as they walked it was hard to hear what was being said in full. But Kenny already knew it was about him. "Why'd he flip out like that?"

"You wouldn't understand. You weren't there," Stan responded, voice rather harsh. As they came to the clearing they were all too familiar with, the conversation became clear. They remained hidden a few yards into the woods, but stopped walking to listen in on the conversation.

Eric and Stan were sat in the treehouse. The same treehouse that no one but Kenny remembered a couple months ago. The same treehouse that was his sanctuary, his place to get away from everything. His throat tightened as he caught glimpses of movement in the treehouse - he couldn't see much due to foliage, but he could see enough to make him feel twenty kinds of upset.

"Why the hell do all of you remember something that I don't?!" Eric shouted. It became a bit evident that he was crying. Sure, Eric was never known for emotional stability, but crying? Kenny shot a glance at Craig, and just from the look on his face he could tell they were both feeling the same thing: shock. "I don't fucking believe you. You're lying to me."

"You weren't in Coon and Friends at the time. You couldn't have witnessed it," Stan protested. "Come on, you already knew Kenny shot himself in the fourth grade."

"But in my fucking _basement_?!"

"Yes! Holy shit, how many times do I need to confirm that?!"

"Don't you think I'd remember something like that? Even if I didn't witness it, I'm pretty sure hearing a gun isn't something you can forget too easily! You're kidding me. You're fucking kidding me."

"You probably blocked it out. Listen, Kenny is our friend. What you did back there was a dick move, okay?"

"He isn't our friend, Stan."

"You vouched for him to be let back into the school."

"I vouched for him because you asked me to. I vouched for him becuase your fucking boyfriend has blackmail againt me. I vouched for him becuase-"

"I can't fucking believe you, Cartman."

"What? You're blaming me for not wanting to be friends with an imposter?"

"Just because you don't remember it doesn't mean he's an imposter!"

By this point, Kenny was trembling. It didn't take much longer for his legs to give out beneath him, and it was only because of Craig's quick reflexes he didn't crack his head open on a tree on his way down. The sudden noise caused by this alterted the two boys in the treehouse to the presence of others. "Who's there?!" Eric shouted. Craig remained silent, and only the shuttering breaths of Kenny could even be vaguely heard.

"Dude let's get back to school," Stan said softly.

"Who the fuck is there?!" Eric repeated, voice louder than before. Craig quickly picked Kenny up bridal style, placing a gentle kiss onto his forehead before speaking up.

"We're going back."

"But your sticks-"

"We'll get a knife. It's whatever," he mumbled, looking around quickly before spotting a clearing safe enough to run through. Without much more thought, the two were off, leaving Eric and Stan back at the Treehouse to question who had been in the forest. All the while, Kenny tried valiantly to calm himself, but to no avail.

Everything was worse now. Everyone remembering didn't fix anything. It made it all worse.

Maybe he should have just tried to scale the house after all. Maybe dying again wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe everyone would forget again.


	26. Chapter 26

They eventually made it onto the roof. By the time they'd gotten up there, Kenny had already fallen completely down a wormhole of negative thoughts. Craig's words barely registered in his mind, and his responses came out only thanks to his skill of having conversations on autopilot. These responses seemed to work, though, because nothing seemed to be amiss when he finally stopped zoning out.

"...heard that Butters is kind of eyeing Bebe, which is weird because I thought Butters was gay?" Craig chuckled, a genuine grin on his lips as he spoke. Kenny glanced over Craig's features with soft eyes, hoping that his glance wasn't noticed. It wasn't, seeing as the black haired boy's eyes were shut.

"He's bisexual, actually. He just leans more toward dudes," Kenny responded dully, voice practically monotone.

"I would've never guessed," his boyfriend commented, his laughter diminishing with the end of his sentence. Kenny sat up from the leaning position he'd acquired at some point on the roof, turning his gaze to meet the setting sun.

South Park looked so idyllic in the orange hues of the sunset. The feeling of the sun going down over the horizon and bringing darkness in tow felt bittersweet to the blond. The idea was simple enough, but given his circumstances it held more meaning to him than it did to probably anyone else. The idea of darkness following light seemed so simple, but his life was pretty much the entire cycle. Light turned to darkness, which then turned back to light. Without flaw, without hiccup, without change. That was how things were.

Was there a way to change nature? He wanted to remember. He felt like he'd heard some way to actually change nature - to change his nature, anyway - but he wasn't sure. After so many years, his memory had begun to get fuzzy. He wasn't sure what things were true and what things weren't.

"Dude. Seriously."

Kenny jumped, turning and looking behind him. Craig's piercing blue eyes felt like they drove deep into the blond, which in turn sent chills down his spine. "What?"

"You aren't acting like yourself."

"I'm fine."

"No you arent."

There was the sound of movement behind him, followed by the warmth of an arm wrapping around his torso. Craig pulled himself to sit next to Kenny, leaning his head on the boy's shoulder. Kenny sighed, responding to this simple action by gently resting his head against Craig's. At some point, their hands found eachother, and they sat like that for a while. The air around them was silent, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Despite his negative thoughts, the blond boy managed to find peace for a few moments, knowing that Craig was there with him. The sun warmed their faces until it disappeared behind the trees, leaving a beautiful painting of warm colors across the sky.

It wasn't until the sun stopped warming them that he felt cold tears running down his cheeks.

"Sunsets are pretty fucking metal if you think about it," Craig commented, his breath beginning to form small clouds of condensation in front of him as the air chilled to that of a typical spring night. "Like... they're pretty, sure, but they're only pretty because of all the fucked up shit we've done to the atmosphere. Without pollution, the world would be kinda shitty, y'know?"

"Modern day Shakespearian drama right there, if you ask me," Kenny murmered, trying to keep his voice as low as possible in case his crying was evident.

"It's just so funny to me, you know?" Craig continued. "So many people think sunsets are romantic, but it's kind of terrifying. The prettier they get, the worse things are getting. Eventually the sky will be full of every color, but we won't be here to see it. There's such a delicate balance between beauty and filth, and I think we kind of forget that a lot."

Kenny was silent. He wasn't used to Craig being so philosophical. He seemed like he wouldn't think about these things, like he'd be more interested in the cheap thrills of a video game's plot rather than the intricasies of human psychology. Then again, he knew better than to judge anyone in this town by their appearances or mundane actions. Craig looked like some sort of wanna-be skater punk, but instead here he was, sitting on the roof of his house discussing the poetry behind a natural event whilst holding his boyfriend.

_The perfect mix of beauty and filth if you ask me_ , Kenny thought, a small smile forming on his lips despite the tears continuing to fall. He tightened his hand around that of his boyfriend's before sniffling, which caused the black haired boy to shoot a worried glance at him. "Are you crying?"

"Shut up," Kenny mumbled, a playful tone in his voice despite the obvious wavering. "Can't I get emotional over your dumb observational poetry?"

"That's kind of gay, you know," Craig hummed, turning his head and pressing his lips against the area right behind the blond's ear. "I love you, you know," he hummed into the mess of hair.

Kenny continued to watch as the warm colors of the sunset muted into cold colors of the night, taking the beauty away from the scene and leaving the harsh truth behind. The happiness he felt faded slowly, but instead of bringing any of that up, he cleared his throat and did his best to hold in the tears that desparately needed to come out.

"I love you, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im so sorry for the slower update schedule i've had w/this tbh. i just got a job so a lot of my time has been eaten up w/that, and i also had a bit of writers block. now that i know what i wanna do with the rest of this story, though, expect at least semi-frequent updates! 
> 
> thank u for reading this far. this is the biggest writing project i've actually kept up, and it means a lot that some people actually like it. your comments are always appreciated, and id love to hear if any of you have any theories abt the ending!! we're obviously over halfway to the conclusion, so don't be afraid to leave theories in the comments. you wont sway my ending, i already have it set in stone ;3


	27. Chapter 27

"Be safe out there."

"It's not that far of a walk. Don't be such a tightass."

"Can't I worry about you?"

"Come on. Don't you know who you're talking to?"

Kenny shut the door slowly, smirking at his boyfriend through the gradually narrowing line of eyesight the doorway gave him. He made sure the door clicked shut before walking down the steps of the front porch and toward the sidewalk.

It was April. Somehow, Kenny still remained alive in the same timeline. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened to him. He hoped that this meant he was finally free from his curse, but rationally he knew much better than that. The time given to him was nothing but a grace period. Before much longer, he'd probably begin the cycle of dying and reincarnating across multiple timelines, wreaking havoc with every fateful end to his miserable, immortal soul.

He walked slowly, his thin frame shaking more and more with each step. He'd implied that he was fine to Craig, and he'd managed to avoid showing actual emotion around him, but on that particular day he was much more of a wreck than usual. He didn't have exact dates memorized as time was nothing but a vague construct to him anymore, but he at least knew it'd been months since the murder of his little sister. Months in which no official funeral was held and no further news of the whereabouts of his remaining family had surfced. His only comfort was that the county had buried his little sister when they buried the Tweaks.

He quietly made his way toward the graveyard, reaching a hand up to tug at a worn chain around his neck. He made sure that the necklace sat atop his parka, allowing it's dim glimmer to show to the world. It was the necklace he'd taken from the scene of the murder - the necklace that belonged to his little sister. His hand trembled as he ran mittenless fingers over the small letter, and he did all in his power to avoid having a crying fit.

He couldn't start crying. Not right then, anyway. Not while walking down the sidewalk.

In an attempt to reach the graveyard faster, he quickened his pace. He didn't want to deal with the intrusive thoughts beginning to bombard his mind. The same thoughts that raced through his mind the day he saw the crime scene his house had become were threatening to resurface with every slow step he took, so the only way to escape these thoughts was to literally run from them. Within moments, he arrived at the rusted gates of the small town's graveyard. His heart dropped as he took the first step onto the somewhat overgrown stone pathway that branched from the sidewalk, and as he glanced at each headstone for the name of his little sister, he felt the urge to cry becoming more and more demanding.

He barely registered the names on each gravestone, and with each passing memorial he felt his heart sink further and further. It wasn't until he reached a back corner of the eerie yard that he found a small headstone with the name Karen McCormick engraved onto it, with the years of her all too short life written right below. He dropped to his knees as soon as he found it, unable to control the flow of tears that had been trying to escape for minutes on end.

"Fuck!" he shouted, pounding his fist on the dirt beside him. He doubled over, his forehead resting on the dirt belonging to his little sister's grave. His body trembled with sobs, and within moments his fist was aching from how many times he'd unconsciously pounded the dirt. "You shouldn't be dead. This isn't right. It wasn't your time!"

There were so many things he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He wanted to tell her that he wished she'd gotten a better childhood. A better family. A better life in general. The hand she'd been dealt timeline after timeline wasn't fair at all. His heart ached at the memories of things she'd been through, and his sobs worstened.

He stayed like that for a long while, sobbing over the small plot of land dedicated to his little sister. He didn't care if anyone saw or heard him. For a while, he actually forgot where he was. He forgot he existed at all. His thoughts and memories and regrets had engulfed him to the point he felt unreal, and even as his panic and mourning calmed to weak crying and an empty feeling in his chest, he wasn't entirely convinced his surroundings were actually real. He gripped at the grass that hadn't been cut in weeks, ripping clumps out in an attempt to remind himself that he actually existed in a real world.

Before long, he'd absently begun to tie the grass he pulled together, occasionally weaving a weed that resembled a flower into the mix. His fingers moved skillfully, recalling muscle memory from dozens of timelines prior when he'd been taught to braid flowers together. Funnily enough, it was Karen who had taught him. She had been so patient, especially for how young she was. She just wanted to see Kenny in a flower crown, and wanted to teach him how to make one.

All she wanted was to make Kenny smile. The memory did the exact opposite.

He delicately placed the shoddy crown of grass and weeds atop the stone, sniffling and doing everything in his power to avoid another crying fit. Momentarily, he glanced away from the headstone, trying to look anywhere else besides in front of him. As he did this, something caught his eye.

To his right, there was another stone with his last name on it. He squinted and moved closer, brushing dead leaves off of the stone to reveal his own name. He stared for a moment, quietly trying to process what he was seeing. His own body from almost a decade prior was lying six feet below the very ground he stood on.

"Fuck. No. No no no no."

He stood, stumbling backwards and tripping over another stone. He fell backwards, hitting his head unceremoniously on the ground and finding himself in a word of dark unconsciousness immediately afterward.

 

* * *

 

Crickets chirped unnervingly close to Kenny's ear. Eventually, one got the bright idea to hop onto the outer shell of one of his ears, immediately waking the blond boy up with a start. He glanced around himself, trying to gather his surroundings. As he frantically looked around himself, he caught glimpse of a familiar figure running toward him.

"Kenny! What the fuck?! Why didn't you respond to me?" Craig shouted, stopping himself within feet of the blond. Kenny looked up at his boyfriend, squinting to make out his face in the dim light of the crescent moon.

"You... tried to contact me?" he asked slowly.

"Multiple times, in multiple ways. Check your phone, I tried texting, calling, using Facebook messanger..." the black haired boy listed slowly, trailing off after a moment as he seemed to come to a realization. "Were you... asleep?"

"I think I passed out."

"God damn it."

"Listen, I had a moment, okay."

"You had five hours is what you had."

Kenny pulled his phone out, ignoring the multitudes of notifications from Craig to look at the time. As he did this, however, new notifications began to pour in. The number wasn't put under any specific name, but he recognized it immediately. "...How did Stan get my number?"

"I gave it to him a few weeks ago. Why? Is he texting you?" Craig asked, stepping forward to stand beside his boyfriend, gently placing his hand on his shoulder as he tried to look at his phone. Reflexively, Kenny hunched over the device as he read.

"He's saying we need to meet him at the campsite near Stark's Pond. It's... apparently an emergency," Kenny murmered, looking up and to the side at Craig.

"I guess we're going, then," Craig sighed, extending his hand to Kenny. Gratefully, he took it, stretching as the black haired boy helped pull him to his feet. Kenny glanced down at his phone one last time as they started to head out of the graveyard, but stopped in his tracks almost immediately. Craig kept walking only for a moment before pausing and turning. "What's wrong?"

"I..." Kenny's eyes widened as he scrolled through notifications. Without saying anything, he dropped his phone and ran out of the graveyard, determined to get to the campsite as fast as humanly possible.


	28. Chapter 28

Upon arriving at the campsite, multiple emotions overtook both the blond and his boyfriend. While mourning or actual anger couldn't be found among them, feelings along the lines of disgust, confusion, and fear were definitely present. It took everything in Kenny's already overwhelmed body not to vomit at the sight before him.

Eric hung from a tree, a kitchen knife impaled through his chest for good measure. Just in front of them stood Stan, who acted as a pseudo-barrier between the culprit of the crime that was right in front of them. Kyle's back was turned to the three bystanders, his hands dripping with the blood of the boy hanging from the tree.

"Kyle, what the fuck did you do?!" Craig shouted, stepping forward to stand next to Stan. Leaves crunched below his feet as he moved, and a chilly wind blew through the less than dense campsite.

"Nothing is like we thought it was, Craig," Kyle laughed, his voice a telltale sign of his intoxication. "Don't any of you remember? Death means nothing anymore."

"What do you _mean_?! Of course death means something!" Stan responded, voice raw with desperation. Melting snow crunched under Kyle's heel as he turned to face the small crowd he'd amassed. His eyes locked with Kenny's almost immediately, and he began to walk forward.

"He's the reason. He's the fucking reason death means nothing. You all know he's immortal," Kyle said, voice shaking with twisted excitement as he made his way toward the blond. Kenny froze, unable to move from his spot even as the suddenly homocidal ginger made his way toward him. Stan immediately jumped into action, lunging forward and grabbing at Kyle's arms to try to keep him back. "I remember it. I remember so much!"

"Bullshit! You can't remember it! We all remember the same thing, Kyle. There's no way you can remember anything that we dont!" Stan shouted. Kyle continued to attempt to move forward despite Stan putting all his strength into holding him back. Craig noticed the struggle and stepped in to help hold Kyle back, his eyes meeting the fearstruck eyes of his boyfriend's momentarily.

"Whenever I drink, I get weird fuzzy memories. Tonight, I remembered Kenny dying from asphyxiation!" Kyle announced, a drunken giggle accentuating his statement. "I figured if he could survive that, maybe it wouldn't matter if Eric met the same fate."

"He didn't survive that! You literally just said that he died," Craig spat.

"But look!" Kyle hummed, motioning with his head toward Kenny. "He's right here. How could he have _not_ survived?"

"Just because Kenny has a power we can't understand doesn't mean that you can _kill people_ , Kyle!" Stan responded. "How fucking likely do you think it is that another person in our immediate friend group would have the same ability as Kenny?!"

"Immortality seemed like fiction to me until memories began resurfacing, Stan," Kyle stated, his voice all too calm. His gaze had shifted to that of someone zoning out as he conversated with the boys restraining him, but quickly Kenny became his focus once more. "Tell me, Kenny. Do you think Eric will come back?"

Kenny felt his heart pounding, almost feeling like it was going to pop out of his chest. His breathing quickened sufficiently as Kyle inquired of him, and he felt a wave of lightheadedness wash over him. He couldn't respond. His mouth had proven itself to be dry with anxiety and his entire body - mouth included - refused to cooperate with any of his wishes otherwise.

"Leave him alone!" Craig demanded, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group in wake of Kyle's question. "I don't think you understand what he's been through. I don't think any of us do."

"But I know what I remember, Craig," Kyle said. "And Kenny has died more times than any of us will ever know. I think it's only fair I get a professional's opinion on Eric's likelihood of survival."

"Zero percent! You fucking _killed him_ , Kyle!" Stan shouted, the threat of tears evident in his voice. "You can't just act like you didn't kill him!"

"Kenny, you haven't answered my question. Do you think Eric can survive? Can you bring him back?" Kyle cooed.

"He's immortal, not a fucking necromancer!" Craig screamed.

"I didn't ask you, did I?" Kyle huffed.

"Stop it! Fucking stop!" Kenny finally shouted, almost involuntarily. His voice wavered with tears that had long since begun flowing, and his ongoing panic didn't help his understandability in the slightest either. "Don't use my curse as an excuse for murder!"

"Kenny, do you have your phone?" Craig asked, tone softening as he looked at Kenny once more.

"Yeah," he breathed, eyes wide.

"Call 911."

"Kenny, answer me," Kyle pleaded, drunken tone mixing with that of slight desparation. Kenny ignored him, fumbling with his pockets in a valiant attempt to find his phone. Once he did, he took full advantage of the emergency call option on his lockscreen. He didn't trust his trembling fingers to actually call anyone otherwise.

As Kyle began to fight for freedom from the restraint of Stan and Craig, Kenny raised his phone to his ear. As soon as the 911 operator picked up, Kenny began to relay information despite his trembling voice, starting with the difficult to say phrase of "someone I know has been killed."

 

* * *

 

"It's not your fault," Craig said softly, wrapping his arms around the trembling Blond. It had been a day or so since the murder, and Kenny hadn't left Craig's bed. Blankets were wrapped tightly around him, and he refused to look anywhere besides the wall. "I promise it isn't."

"It is," Kenny said softly, eyes wide and burning with the need to blink. He didn't, though, because blinking gave his brain the small window of time it needed to flash the image of Eric's dead body, or the deranged look in Kyle's eyes, or anything else from that night. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to relive.

"It isn't," Craig mumbled, pulling Kenny close to him in a valiant attempt to comfort him. "I promise."

"I wanted them to remember," the blond responded, starting to cry simply because he'd held his eyes open far too long. "Kyle remembered. And now Eric's dead."

"But that isn't your fault."

"Everything I get involved with dies, Craig. I'm like King Midas, except everything I touch dies."

"You aren't."

"That's easy for you to say."

Craig sighed, pulling Kenny a bit closer. "I know I can't imagine what you're feeling, but can you at least try to see things from my perspective?"

"No," Kenny responded quickly. "Outside perspective can't change anything."

"But outside perspective says it's not your fault."

"Inside perspective says it is my fault, which is true."

Craig groaned, not moving from his spot behind Kenny, but giving up on trying to convince him that he wasn't at fault. Despite Craig's continued presence, Kenny felt suffocatingly alone. Eventually, he involuntarily blinked, which sent him into a miniature panic at the intrusive visuals of the dreaded night.

Tweek was killed after Eric got him involved in the drama surrounding his initial incarnation. His sister was killed after he returned home. And now, Eric was killed after not giving into the reality of Kenny's curse. Whether Craig wanted to believe it or not, Kenny knew full well what he was.

Suddenly, though, he came to a realization. Upon remmebering Karen and the things he'd seen at the graveyard mere nights ago, certain memories immediately preceding the death he'd already expereinced in the timeline he currently resided in came flooding back. He shot up, knocking Craig's arms off of him and thoroughly startling him as he did so.

Suddenly, he knew what he had to do to fix everything once and for all. Completely ignoring Craig's concerned inquiries, he climbed out of bed and opened the window, jumping out of it once more, giving him and likely his boyfriend bitter memories of his suicide that had occurred mere months ago.

He finally had a fix. A permanent fix.

Everything would be okay soon enough.


	29. Chapter 29

_If you're reading this, there's a very high probability I'm either dead or dying. If you're some poor asshole who happened to find this note buried in the ground and you don't know someone by the name of Kenneth, it might be best for your frail little heart to put this paper down right now._

_A lot has happened over the past few months, and a lot of it was completely out of anyone's control. It all made me realize, however, that my life wasn't entirely in vain. I'm not too sure what the whole point of it was, but I know I made a few people happy. That's nice to know._

_I also caused a lot of shit, though. That's what's lead up to this point._

_If you're one of the people who didn't get any memories of this, I've been dying for years on end. In your world, I died in the fourth grade by shooting myself. Back then, I did it in hopes that people would remember. That people would care. That I would get noticed. It didn't happen though. Of course it didn't._

_Every time I die, I wind up in a world almost completely similar to the one I'd been in before, the only differences being that I'm not dead and that no witnesses actually remember. For so long I wished that could change. Fate landed me in a timeline I'd been in before, and I finally got my wish to come true. But once it came true, shit just got worse. My one wish that I've held for years has actually been my complete and utter downfall. But it's okay, because that same downfall has lead me to my final resting place._

_I know the scene you're likely seeing isn't pretty, and that my chosen method of suicide is anything but conventional, but I promise it had a reason. It's nothing I can explain, especially not through a shitty letter written on notebook paper. Let's just say it ties into the hell that these past years have been for me. That's really the only way I can put it without making this note sound even more like the ramblings of a crazy man._

_I'm really hoping that I can finally rest. I'm so fucking tired of hurting all the time._

_To Stan: I'm sorry I caused Kyle to snap._

_To Craig: I love you. I hope you don't forget that. I don't want you to forget._

_To Karen: I'm on my way._

 

* * *

 

The finished note was tucked into his parka pocket immediately upon completion. He didn't have the time nor the energy to re-think or re-write anything he'd put down. What's done was done, right? If he thought too hard about it, he knew he'd back out.

The idea of permanently dying was foreign to him. He mused over it as he broke into the shed made of rotting wood at the back of the graveyard. There were so many tools in the shed, and he could probably list off multiple ways he'd been killed with each of them over the course of his life. Funnily enough, none of them would directly hurt him in his grand finale. He grabbed the rusty shovel from a pile of similarly rusting tools before retreating from the shed, making a mad dash to the graves he'd seen the night of Eric's murder.

His heart pounded loud enough to sound in his ears as his eyes flicked over the graves ahead of him. He didn't give himself time to think about the fact that he was going to kill himself atop his little sister's grave. He didn't have the time.

He had so little time.

He knew Craig was going to follow him. No doubt he'd called 911 to file a missing persons report or got together with some of the other guys from school to amass a search party. He was sure the last place they'd expect to find him would be the graveyard, though. Despite this, he began to speedily and unceremoniously dig up his own grave, hoping desparately that his body was still there. That's all he needed. He just needed this one thing to work out in his favor, and everything will have been worth it.

It had been nearly 8 years since his body had been buried in this spot. As his shovel went from hitting dirt to hitting something much less solid, he realized how poorly made the state-distributed coffins were. The fact that his body was held with such little regard only further drove home the point of how much he didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. The point of the shovel stabbed through worn and warped fabric, which was thinly stretched over a shoddy wooden frame. Inside of this poorly kept up construction was the key to his final slumber.

With great haste, he began to clear the grave site enough to be able to reach into the coffin without much issue. As he did his best to clear shovel-full after shovel-full from the ground, his heart thudded harder and harder in his chest. By the time he was almost ready to do what needed to be done, it felt like his heart was trying to break his ribcage.

The fabric ripped so easily, and just below it was a nauseating sight. The skeleton of his childhood self stared up at him, all scrambled from years of settling and rotting. He couldn't bear to think of what was happening to Karen right now. She was going to wind up like this, wasn't she? Her body would become a mess of rot and bone.

Tears began to flow as he pulled a thicker bone out of the mess of death beneath him. With how old it was and subsequently how brittle it'd become, it was more than easy to smash it in half on the headstone above the tragic sight. What was left was half of a bone with a jagged edge, ready to do one final thing in this mess of a world.

Kenny patted his pocket with his hand to make sure the note was still there. The crinkle of paper confirmed it. Slowly now, he slipped his parka off and dropped it beside his feet. Now only in his tshirt and pajama pants, he looked up at the sky. The same sky that had seen the deaths of Tweek, Karen, and Eric would now see one final tragedy to wrap up the whole tale.

He positioned the bone on the ground with the pointed side up and thrust himself onto it. The sound of bone crunching through Kenny's ribcage and the agonizing screech that followed were all that filled the air for a few moments. Lingering sobs followed, but as time passed, and as all signs of life left the graveyard once more, silence took it's place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone!! the next chapter is the final chapter. i would have put it all into this chapter but i refuse to have it end on an odd number of chapters, so you have my anxiety and compulsions to thank for the cliffhanger.
> 
> :3c ye


	30. Chapter 30

A cold wind blew through the small mountain town of South Park. The usually quiet streets were ripe with chattering, with police cars circling blocks and two separate groups of teenagers speedwalking with purpose. Habitually dark streets were lit with flashing red and blue lights and the beams of cheap flashlights. Everyone was looking for someone.

"Come on guys, I think I know where he'll be," a familiar black haired boy called to a small herd of teenagers behind him. They took a left when they came to a nearing corner, only to all simultaneously stop in their tracks.

 

* * *

 

Across town, a police car was stopped at a red light. "Officer Barbrady, do you have sight on the missing child?" the police radio clipped to his pocket buzzed. He pulled it up toward his mouth, squinting into the darkness beyond the reach of his headlights.

"Negative."

There was a hesitency on his end, before he cleared his throat and began to inquire of the other end.

"Who am I supposed to be looking for again?

 

* * *

 

"Wait, who is _he_?" a curly-headed blonde girl piped up from the back of the group. A similar mumble of questions erupted following suit.

"I..." the black haired boy in charge trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly and glancing around. "I'm not... entirely sure. I don't know."

"Why are we here, then? If you dont kn-kn-know who we're looking for?" a brunette on crutches asked.

 

* * *

 

"The missing child report we received an hour ago," the cop on the other end replied.

"Can you repeat his description?" Barbrady murmered, beginning to drive once more as the light turned green. There was a shuffle of papers on the other end of his receiver, and after a few moments of silence, a distant swear was heard. It clearly came from the man he was speaking to, but it was almost directed toward someone else. Maybe himself.

"I had it a minute ago. I thought I'd printed his records, but I must've grabbed clean paper from the tray instead."

"Can you get me his description then?"

"Yeah. Just, uh... do you remember his name?"

 

* * *

 

"I know I called you guys out here to look for someone. I'm just not sure who."

"Craig, that isn't a good reason. Some of us need to sleep. We have finals coming up," a black haired boy in a blue and read beanie mumbled. Tiredness laced his voice, the adrenaline from the manhunt they'd been on worn off with the realization their target was unknown.

"And some of us had plans for the night," the blonde spoke up once more, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Listen, Bebe," Craig huffed. "Whatever I called you out here for is far more important than fucking your boyfriend."

"How important can it be if you can't r-remember?" the brunette stuttered out.

 

* * *

 

"His name? I don't think you ever told me his name," Barbrady responded, a sudden rush of anxiety in his voice.

"Of course I told you his god damn name! Let me just- I'll radio you when I get this sorted. For now, just keep watch for any suspicious figures," the officer on the other end mumbled before the distinct static of the active radio disappeared. Barbrady kept his eyes trained on the road in front of him, trying to edge out the feeling that maybe he was forgetting someone.

 

* * *

 

"Listen. If none of you care, you're free to leave. I'll keep looking for him without you guys," Craig blurted out, frustration in his voice.

"S-Stan, can you give me a ride back to my house?" the brunette inquired, already breaking off from the group. The kid wearing the beanie turned and looked at him.

"Yeah, sure Jimmy," he shrugged, emptiness in his voice, as if the events surrounding the mysterious missing kid reminded him of someone. As if the desparation in Craig's demeanor reminded him of a feeling he'd felt just recently. Kyle had been arrested for murdering Eric, and he was so sure he knew the reason. But all too quickly it slipped his mind. "You want front or do you want back?"

"B-Back."

As the duo walked away, the blonde huffed and stormed off in the opposite direction they'd been walking. All at once, Craig was alone. He looked at the sidewalk in front of him, listening as the ambient noise of his friends leaving him faded away with time. His thoughts quickly began to fill in silent space.

He really couldn't remember who he was looking for. He just knew that whoever it was had to be important.

 

* * *

 

As if in another world entirely, the ratty door to a room in similar disrepair creaked open. Socked feet tread across the carpet, and a little girl pounced on a bed as if she were an assassin in training. "Wake up! It's time for school!"

"Mn... can I skip?"

"Nope! You have to come with me to my class today, Ken! You're helping me in my presentation!"

Slowly, the boy on the bed sat up, looking at the little girl who was excitedly tugging his blanket off and throwing it halfway across the room. His eyes stung with tears as he watched her, memorizing the smile on her face. Quickly, he grabbed her and pulled her into the tightest hug he could conceivably give without breaking her.

A hug. With two arms.

"Right, right... can you give me a minute to get ready?" the boy breathed, trying desprately to hold back tears that wanted to spill. The little girl nodded, her brunette locks brushing against her big brother's cheek. "Go get your shoes on, Karen. I'll be out in a minute."

"Okie-dokie!" she chirped, wriggling out of the hug and running from the room, pulling the door shut behind her with a dull slam. Slowly, the boy gathered himself and made his way over to a dresser he hardly used. On the wall above this dresser hung a mirror, coated in dust from the lack of use or care given to it. He wiped his palm across the glass, making just enough of a clearing to see his reflection.

There he stood, alive and in one piece. A thick scar sat where his left arm and shoulder met, and glancing down he confirmed the remnants of the event leading to said scar remained on his forearm. He sighed, walking over to his closet and pulling on his clothes like usual. Once dressed, he began to head out of his room. As he did so, he raised his hand to the ceiling and flipped it off. His target knew who he was.

"Hey, Karen, can you remind me what the presentation is about?" the blond called as he opened his door. He was met with the grin of his little sister, complete with two missing teeth that she no doubtedly didn't get tooth fairy money for.

"I'll let you know when we get to school, silly!"

The boy smiled, offering his hand to his sister who gladly took it. As they walked, they both took careful, unconscious precaution to not step on any used needles. The blond paused at the door to slip his boots on, and together they walked down to the bus stop.

"Hey, Kenny!" a certain redhead called out. "I see your sister has some sort of presentation too?"

Kenny shrugged, pulling his hand away from Karen's momentarily to make sure his parka was covering his face sufficiently. "I guess so."

"Dude, take the fuckin' parka off, will ya? It's gonna be summer soon!" Eric shouted.

"Let him do his thing, fatass! He doesn't tell you to lose weight when it's gonna be summer, does he?" Kyle shouted.

"Fuck off you piece of shit J-!"

"Language, you two! There are children present!" Stan interrupted, motioning to the young Karen and the much younger Ike. The two looked at eachother sheepishly before flipping eachother off almost simultaneously.

As if on cue, the bus pulled up just then.

"Last one on the bus buys lunch for everyone!" Eric chuckled, running on the bus. The other two boys stumbled over their own feet, desparate to get on the bus before the other in hopes they wouldn't have to pay. Kenny, on the other hand, hung back.

"Let's walk to school today, okay?" Kenny asked.

"We'll be late!" Karen protested

"It's okay," Kenny said softly. "Sometimes it's okay to not really care."

With that, Kenny took Karen's hand once more, and they began their walk to school.


End file.
